


Silence in the Catacombs

by Nicor_Fyrweorm



Series: Last of the Time Lords [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Time Lords (Doctor Who), Cliffhangers, Episode: s05e04 The Time of Angels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, The Master Has Issues, Timey-Wimey, Warning: Weeping Angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21727546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicor_Fyrweorm/pseuds/Nicor_Fyrweorm
Summary: Amy Pond wanted a peaceful outing, just for once. Doctor River Song wanted a lift from her partner in crime. Father Octavian wanted an army to defeat one of the most terrifying monsters in the galaxy.The Master wanted everything to start making sense again.Or the one where legends and statues come to life and the past and the future conspire against Amy and the Master.
Relationships: Amy Pond & River Song, Tenth Doctor & The Master (Simm), The Doctor & Amy Pond (Doctor Who), The Doctor & River Song, The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), The Master & Amy Pond (Doctor Who), The Master & River Song
Series: Last of the Time Lords [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511825
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Silence in the Catacombs

**Author's Note:**

> If I'd been told two-parters would be this hard to write, I would have thought twice before starting… Then again, you can blame it on River and Moffat too. And the fact the whole of the _Doctor Who_ series is one big ball of wibbly wobbly timey-wimey stuff.
> 
> On another note, we also need a _Warning: Weeping Angels_ tag. It seems to have gone missing when I looked away.

Amy looks at the planet, with its mesmerizing purple clouds and cerulean grass, round fluffy flowers in shades of green everywhere – and presses the button to see the next. 

She feels like she's been at it for hours, but it has only been about fifteen or twenty minutes. Still, she'll be damned if she quits before finding somewhere cool yet nice for her last trip before the Raggedy Man joins her in the control room. 

He's taking a shower now, or something, feeling much better than the day before. 

Yes, the day _before._ Amy still can't believe how quickly Time Lords heal, but apparently, all he has left to deal with is some soreness and so they can move on. 

Amy still doesn't trust his definition of 'better', though. So that's why she's here, in the control room, checking on the list of planets the TARDIS has put together after she asked for a place for a calm trip. 

The issue is finding the balance between 'calm' and 'boring'. 

On Amy's first encounter with the Doctor, he closed a crack into an alien prison. On the second, twelve years later, he finally returned to hunt down the escaped prisoner and scold the careless guards. Two years after that, he came to pick Amy up for an apology trip to Starship UK, in the twenty-ninth century, where they met the Queen and saved a Space Whale. Amy convinced him to take her on two more trips, so they answered a call to meet Churchill on 1941, and now Amy has one last adventure to enjoy. 

Only, after how their _last_ trip ended, she is willing to put aside all her hopes for yet more exciting adventures in favor of someplace a bit calmer, where he won't be able to find any trouble. 

1941, the middle of the London Blitz. Churchill's call, a month before their arrival, was to ask the Doctor's opinion about some super robots a Scottish inventor created to help win the war. By the time they got there, though, Churchill was convinced of how good they were and refused to accept they were actually alien. 

Daleks. The creatures that had exterminated the Doctor's species, who had destroyed his planet, and who technically should have died with it. The Doctor freaked out, holed himself in the TARDIS for an hour, and, when he'd finally come out, he refused _any_ kind of name and had threatened to kill Churchill to try to unmask the Daleks. 

He got himself shot instead, managed to give a speech about the Daleks truly being Daleks instead of Ironsides, and had had to chase them into their spaceship to stop them from using his words to revive their race. 

As he'd told her this morning, after Amy helped him out of the infirmary's machines but before he could run away to shower, he failed. 

The Daleks had created better ones, who had obliterated the Ironside models and escaped while the Doctor returned to Earth to stop Bracewell from blowing it up. 

Only, he may have _not_ been completely sincere about that. He had played with his words, left enough unsaid or worded vaguely to give an impression that was actually different than the truth. He had made it seem as if Bracewell was a sleeper agent of the Daleks, but as he'd confessed to Amy, he was actually a cyborg. 

The Daleks aren't telepathic, _Time Lords_ are telepathic. The Doctor had hypnotized Bracewell into thinking _the Daleks_ had hypnotized him, and thus deactivated the bomb. 

Humans don't blow up, and Bracewell was human. So, no explosion. 

Amy is still trying to wrap her head around that, but she had let him go take his shower and relocated to the control room instead of trying to get an actual comprehensible explanation out of him. His insistence on big words and precise terms, combined with his reluctance to breach the topic and the lingering gloom from the encounter, hadn't helped. 

Not even the TARDIS' efforts had seemed to have an effect on that, though she'd been extremely helpful with everything else. 

The TARDIS had put an extra bed in the infirmary while Amy was talking with Churchill and Bracewell, right next to the Doctor's machine. She had been able to sleep like a baby _and_ hold the Doctor's uninjured hand all through the night, to keep at bay nightmares – his _and_ hers. 

Amy's not sure if it was her presence or something the TARDIS put in his drip, but he had slept peacefully all night long too. 

Still, Amy thinks a picnic somewhere alien enough but not too exciting will be for the best. All his organs are working properly now, second heart included, and his fingers are attached and perfectly functional too, if still working on the lingering burns. But still… 

“I can't believe how hard it is to find someplace that's nice but _not_ a spa,” she grumbles to herself, pulling up yet another planet. “I know we could always go to Earth, past or future, but I _really_ want to see more of space. I mean, so far, all I've seen is the UK of the future and the one of the past. What about, say, Mars? Can't we go to Mars?” she asks the TARDIS, but the next pictures are definitely not from Mars, judging by the underwater city they show. “Atlantis. Yay. So _not_ what I signed for.” 

And, as if in answer to her bemoaning, a phone rings. 

Amy's first reaction is to reach into her pocket, but she soon realizes it is not hers. 

It's the TARDIS'. 

The same phone that Churchill called. 

“Oh, you have to be kidding. I know he said he's better now, but I don't think _this_ is what he needs,” she tells the TARDIS, walking around the console to see that, yes, the flip phone's screen is lighted up. “Please tell me it's not something crazy,” she whispers under her breath before taking a deep breath and flipping the phone open. “Hello?” 

“Hello, Amelia,” the person on the other side answers calmly, and Amy startles as she recognizes the voice. 

“Raggedy Man? How many phones do you have in this place?” she asks, looking back to the corridors to make sure he really isn't there and playing some kind of prank on her. 

“Who knows?” he answers with a shrug that's almost audible, and Amy rolls her eyes with a huff. “Listen, I know what our next destination will be. The Delerium Archive, 171st century. It'll be fun.” 

“Your definition of fun is most often than not synonym of danger, you know. Or something gross,” she tells him with a smile but with her nose scrunched, shaking her head. “Your sense of humor is all twisty, Raggedy Man.” 

“That's what Rule 6 is for,” he tells her with a smile she can practically hear through the phone, and Amy frowns when she realizes she doesn't know that one. “If I ever scare you, if it ever looks like I'm losing my mind… Rule 6. Remember that one.” 

Alarm bells start tolling in Amy's mind. 

Is this new rule because of that scene in the laboratory, when he ordered the Ironsides to shoot him? Has he finally realized how much he scared her, how much Amy cares about him, and is trying to fix it? Is there something _else_ she should worry about? 

“Raggedy Man? What is that about? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's good to know you have something like that in place, but you already have Rules 1 and 2,” she points out, trying to come across as merely curious to see if she really needs to stage another intervention. 

Perhaps she should have taken Rory along. It's starting to look more and more like having a trained nurse around might be beneficial to both the Doctor's health and Amy's sanity. 

But with just one trip left on the horizon, why worry? 

… Well, because this is _the Raggedy Doctor._ Of course Amy will worry. 

“I have a good feeling about this next adventure. It'll be magnificent,” he tells her instead of answering, sounding more cheerful and perkier than his previous calm, and Amy can't help but relax, chalking it to his still being sore and tired from their last trip. “We'll see it all the way through, won't we?” 

“Don't we always?” Amy retorts with a snort, pressing a couple keys to get the planet list off the screen and leaning against the controls. “Besides, if this is going to be my last trip, I'm going to get as much out of it as I can.” 

“That's the spirit…” he whispers, his voice trailing off almost as if in a sigh, and Amy tenses all over again. 

“Raggedy Man? Are you alright? Where are you, do you need help?” she asks, worried and looking at the corridors, waiting for a sign as to where to go. 

The last thing she wants is to realize they missed something, or that he should've staid in the machines for longer, and find him passed out somewhere. Or, worse, find out he passed out but not know where. 

“Amy, it's alright. I'm just a bit tired, that's all. Remind me to take a break when all this is over,” he answers reassuringly, amusement in his voice, and Amy relaxes once more against the console. 

“If I find out you lied to me, you're grounded!” she scoffs, and blushes when she realizes what she just said, hearing him chuckle on the other side. “Oh God, I sound like your babysitter. Is that what I am now, your babysitter? Ugh, whatever,” she huffs, smiling mostly to herself but hoping he can hear it in her voice too. “Alright, I'll play babysitter this once, but this way we're even, you hear me?” 

“I owe you,” he tells her, and Amy rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to repeat that they are _even,_ not owing anyone anything because that's not how friendship works, but he speaks before she can. “I'll take care of you. Whatever happens, however dark it gets, I'll take care of you. Never doubt that.” 

It's the emotion in his voice, the promise, which steals Amy's breath away and takes her back to that night fourteen years ago, when her Raggedy Doctor had held her hand and smiled at her and told her to trust him. 

Her Raggedy Man, her Raggedy Doctor… Hurt as he is, broken and grieving, with all those bad memories brought back by the Daleks… 

Amy smiles. Her Raggedy Doctor is still here, no matter what. 

So, Amy takes a deep breath, finally putting to rest all those terrifying dark thoughts about him choosing to blow himself up with the Daleks, and feels light enough to simply float off the ground. 

“I know, Doctor. I could never forget.” 

“Doctor…” he repeats, fond and exasperated at the same time, and Amy's eyes widen in realization before she hurries to apologize, because he doesn't want to be called that despite the fact it _is_ his name. “Always the Doctor, isn't that right?” he muses, ignoring her stammering, almost as if he was talking to himself, and Amy stills, frowning in confusion. “Thanks, Amy. And don't worry. It'll be alright.” 

And the call cuts. 

For about half a minute, Amy can do nothing but stand there, frowning at empty air, before she finally comes back to herself and flips the phone closed. 

What was that about? Is he _really_ feeling better? Because, right now, she's more inclined towards worry than relief. 

She has just put the phone back in its slot, pondering over whether he's really cheered up or just had a moment, when she hears footsteps from the central corridor. 

The Raggedy Man is walking out without the limp or any stiffness of the day before, clad in comfy blue jeans and a gray sweater over a white shirt, and muttering unintelligibly under his breath as he glares at the wall. The only signs of his being injured just the day before, actually, are the bandages carefully wrapped around his right hand and forearm, and likely the reason for his rolled-up sleeves. 

“Are you talking to yourself?” Amy asks before she can think about it, and the Raggedy Man startles, as if surprised to see her there, before rolling his eyes and waving his bandaged hand dismissively without any sign of pain or stiffness. 

“Why would I do that? It's not like I'm crazy, or something. Now, ready for the next trip?” he asks with a huge grin, and Amy smiles in relief before straightening with a chuckle. 

Looks like it's both, him having cheered up _and_ having a moment. Oh well, he did warn her he was weird. 

“The Delerium Archive, 171st century. Ready to go!” Amy answers, boxing a bit in show, and he looks startled for a moment before throwing his head back with a bark of laughter and a huge smirk. 

“Alright! Largest museum in the universe, here we come!” 

And Amy's smile slips off her face at the words. A museum? Did he seriously con her into going to _a museum?_

But as she watches him adjust the controls, cackling in glee as they take speed and the bubble strings piston inside the central column, Amy decides to let it slide. At least she'll get a million tales in one single trip. 

Though, as she discovers when they actually get there, she gets more than a million tales, especially once the Doctor sees some of the labels on the exhibits and scoffs at just how wrong they are. So, Amy gets some brief interesting facts and a lot of anecdotes, as well as more accurate explanations about the items in particular. She also learns that the Archive is the final resting place of the Headless Monks, called such because they believed in trusting the heart over the mind. 

It's a strange outing, even with all the alien exhibits, but it's still quite fun, once the Doctor gets more into the stories and his gloom lifts completely. Maybe later they'll stop in some market or something, get a bite, visit some 'tourist spots', and that'll be it, but Amy's pretty sure she won't feel as disappointed as she first thought she would. 

“What's a home box?” Amy asks when she reads the few lines of text on the next glass exhibit, frowning in confusion at the rusted box with all the strange symbols on it. 

“It records all flight data of the ship and, if something happens, flies back to base,” the Doctor explains absentmindedly, twisting his head this way and that in front of another of the exhibits at Amy's back. 

“Like a black box?” 

“Let's say it's the improved version,” he answers with a shrug, finally looking up with a lifted eyebrow. “What's so interesting about a home box? Other than its age.” 

“Says here that this one belonged to the starliner _Byzantium,_ which crashed after being sabotaged. No survivors.” 

“ _Boooring,”_ he drawls, turning back to the display and twisting his head the other way, as if that would help him make sense of what looks like a bunch of French presses. 

Amy snorts but looks down at the text one more time, frowning, before analyzing the box. She squints and tilts her head, but the symbols don't change. The TARDIS translates everything in her head, spoken and written languages alike, but it takes a bit for it to do so with text. And yet, whatever is written on the box doesn't change to English. 

“Hey, Raggedy Man, I found another wrong exhibit,” Amy calls with a huff when she confirms that the symbols aren't actual text. “They say here that someone carved a message on this home box, likely the saboteur, and no one has been able to decipher it. But the TARDIS doesn't translate it,” she explains as the Doctor joins her by the exhibit, grinning widely at the opportunity to insult people some more, and Amy doesn't even roll her eyes anymore, just gesturing at the box. “See? No text, the saboteur was just messing with them.” 

And then she looks up and sees the Raggedy Man has gone pale and his jaw is hanging open in disbelief. 

“What's wrong?” Amy hurries to ask, resting a hand on his arm, and he blinks and closes his mouth with a sharp inhale. 

“That's Old High Gallifreyan. The lost language of the Time Lords,” he answers with a breathy voice, carefully resting his hand on the glass. “The language that could burn stars, raise up empires and topple gods. The TARDIS doesn't translate Gallifreyan. She can't, Gallifreyan doesn't translate,” he explains, refocusing on the present and recovering some color, and Amy looks down at the graffitied box with a small frown. 

“What does it say?” she asks, meeting his pale green eyes. 

The Doctor takes a breath, swallows once and opens his mouth. 

“Hello, sweetie.” 

Amy blinks once, twice – and turns away from the display with a short laugh and a huff. 

“Oh my God, you got me! I actually thought you were serious, but you really got me! Well, I have to give it to you, Raggedy Man. That was great acting,” she admits, turning back to him with a smile— 

Just in time to see the Doctor slam his elbow through the glass. 

The alarms come to life all around them, but the Doctor ignores them in favor of taking the box out of the ruined display and running down the corridor. 

“Amy, TARDIS, _come on!”_ he orders, but Amy is already fast on his heels, trying to make sense of what happened. 

“What did you do that for?!” 

“It's Gallifreyan! I'm the last of the Time Lords, the only remaining living being who knows this language, so that means I must have written it. But why would I write that? I mean, 'hello, sweetie'? That's obviously a way to get my attention, which means there's something important recorded in this box!” he explains between pants as they run to the TARDIS, ignoring the guards shouting at them to stop. “And now we're going to see what it is!” 

Amy shuts the door at her back as soon as they're both inside, and rushes to the railing before the Raggedy Man dematerializes the TARDIS, taking a moment to recover her breathing before she joins him by the console. 

“Wait, you were serious? That thing really says 'hello, sweetie'?” 

“I told you, didn't I? Weren't you listening?” he huffs without looking up from the electrode-thingies he's connecting to it. “Now, let's see if we can get the security playback working,” he adds with a grin, pressing some buttons before they look up at the screen. 

The feed is grainy at first but clears quickly, leaving them with a black and white image of a woman in a dressing gown, with curly hair and dark glasses, exiting a chamber right in front of the camera, holding a small revolver at the ready. 

She looks both ways down the corridor before looking at the camera, lowering her gun and pushing her sunglasses down – and giving them a wink, smirk included. 

Amy chuckles as quietly as she can, because that looks like something out of a spy movie. 

The Raggedy Man, on the other hand, is frowning quite seriously, quiet as he presses a couple buttons for the image to follow her when she moves down the corridor. 

“That was the home box chamber. But how did she know what to write?” 

“Maybe you wrote it down for her? You know, this way you could distract the crew or do whatever while she wrote that there,” Amy suggests, alternating between looking at the screen and at the Doctor. 

“Could be.” 

“The party's over, Doctor Song,” a man's voice calls as the image focuses on the woman standing in front of yet another round door, her back to the camera. “Yet still you're on board,” he adds as she turns around, completely calm and without her sunglasses anymore. 

“Sorry, Alistair. I needed to see what was in your vault. Do you all know what's down there?” 

“She's so cool,” Amy whispers, grin growing, while the Doctor's frown turns confused. 

“ _What's down there…_ Whatever's in the vault, she didn't take it,” he points out, and Amy can feel her excitement grow. 

“Any of you?” Doctor Song adds, before dropping her sweet tone for something more dangerous, her smirk also slipping away. “Because I'll tell you something. This ship won't reach its destination.” 

“Wait till she runs. Don't make it look like an execution,” Alistair answers, presumably giving the orders to whoever goons he has with him, out of the camera. 

Doctor Song doesn't seem bothered by that, though, looking at her wristwatch. 

“Triple seven five slash three four nine by ten. Zero twelve slash acorn,” she says completely unbothered, though she makes sure to look straight at the camera and adjust her curls with a grin with her last words. 

The Doctor's eyes grow wide just before he rushes into motion, adjusting levers and pushing buttons all over the TARDIS' controls. 

“Hold on! Those are coordinates!” he shouts at Amy, who makes sure to grab onto one of the dividers of the console before the ship starts to shake. 

“Oh, and I could do with an air corridor,” Doctor Song adds, and that's when it becomes clear that it _is_ a message, the whole graffiti thing and these numbers now, and that she _knew_ who she was sending it to. 

After all, the Raggedy Man is the last of the Time Lords, the only creature in the whole universe who can read Gallifreyan and is in possession of a TARDIS, a space- and time-traveling machine. Who else could she have sent this message to? 

“Like I said on the dance floor… You might want to find something to hang on to,” Doctor Song tells Alistair and whoever is with him, and Amy has to laugh. 

“She is _really_ cool! Do you know her, Raggedy Man? Why didn't you ever tell me about her?” she asks as she watches Doctor Song blow a kiss to the people off the camera, just before the door at her back opens – and she's sucked into the void. “She's out in space!” 

“Hold on!” the Raggedy Man shouts, pulling another lever before rushing to the door, opening it and reaching out— 

And crashing back inside with a grunt, with Doctor Song lying on his chest. 

“That was amazing!” Amy gushes, almost bouncing on her toes. “It was just like a spy movie!” 

“Hello, Sweetie,” Doctor Song tells the Raggedy Man as she gets off him, winking down at his wide-eyed and breathless form. “I knew you'd love the hair,” she adds before jumping to her feet and watching the ship fly away outside of the TARDIS. “Come on, we have to follow it!” she orders, rushing to the controls as she pulls her really tall high heels off, and Amy's admiration turns to worry when she realizes the Raggedy Man is _still_ silent. 

He's sitting up now, but one of his arms is curled around his ribcage and his breaths are more like gasps. 

_“Draining the lungs. Never a good experience.”_

The Raggedy Man was shot by a Dalek, twice, one shot almost blowing up his hand while the other did internal damage. And that was _just yesterday._ He may be a lot better, may not even look hurt anymore, but that doesn't mean he's fully healed. And Doctor Song landed right on top of him with who knows how much force. 

Amy rushes down to the door to help him up, ignoring Doctor Song doing who knows what with the TARDIS and talking to herself – or to them, but since no one is listening, it's about the same thing. 

“Are you alright?” Amy asks as he gets to his feet, and the Raggedy Man takes a deeper breath and nods. 

“Come on! They've gone into warp drive, we need to stay close or we'll lose them!” Doctor Song calls from the controls, and Amy finally realizes she _is_ operating the TARDIS, she is _flying her._

The Raggedy Man rips his arm out of Amy's grip and crosses the distance in two long steps before Amy can realize what's happening. 

“Use the stabilizers!” Doctor Song tells the Raggedy Man— 

And he grabs her arm and pushes her into the jump seat instead, grabbing the other tightly before she can get over her surprise and do more than stare wide-eyed at his snarl. 

“Just who do you think you are? Coming in here, into _my_ TARDIS, and barking out orders as if I'm nothing but your _servant!_ Well, newsflash, I have had _enough_ of people thinking they can do whatever they please with me, I have had _enough_ of being ordered around like a _good little soldier!_ I am _no one's_ tool and _no one's_ puppet, and you _can't use me anymore!”_

“Doctor—” 

“ _Don't call me that!”_ he roars, bristling almost visibly, and the TARDIS' wheezing turns louder and almost pained, while Doctor Song's expression goes from startled to fearful, and Amy takes a step back. “That's what you think, isn't it? Oh, the Doctor will save us, the Doctor will fix everything so we can go back to doing whatever we please and being idiots. Well, _tough!_ The Doctor _won't_ fix anyone's messes _ever again!_ The Doctor is _gone, you_ took everything that could ever be taken, took all mercy and hope and left _nothing_ behind! Only _pain_ and _loss_ and the weight of all those choices you primitive, useless, _greedy_ little monsters _forced_ your _precious Doctor_ to make because it. Was. _Convenient!_ And you know what? _Congratulations!_ Now _there's nothing left but me!_ And _I_ won't hesitate to say _no,_ to _leave you to die,_ because I have died _enough_ because of your pathetic race, I have lost _enough_ to your meaningless mudball of a planet, and I have _nothing left to lose!”_

Amy is the one gasping now, pressing tightly against the railing she backed into, and trying to keep any sounds at bay, be it whimpers or sobs. Doctor Song looks heartbroken, her eyes shiny with tears and her hands shaking where they are tightly holding onto the seat. 

And the Raggedy Man's snarl twists into something that could _almost_ be called a grin, but which has too many teeth and absolutely no humor in it. 

_“If I ever scare you, if it ever looks like I'm losing my mind… Rule 6. Remember that one.”_

“Rule 6!” Amy shouts before she realizes it, stumbling up the ramp to the control platform, and the Raggedy Man's head snaps up to stare at her with wide-eyed wild eyes, the shock in them slowly dragging the man back from under all of the pain and rage and grief. “Rule 6, Rule 6. Please, Raggedy Man, _Rule 6.”_

“Doctor Rule Number 6. Look pretty,” Doctor Song elaborates, and the Raggedy Man jerks away from her as if the mere contact had burnt him. 

“How do you know about those?” he asks in a whisper, that last shock finally chasing the darkness away, and Amy lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. 

“I know you in the future. Look, we can't lose that ship. I'll explain when we land, but we have to—” Doctor Song adds, but the moment she stands up from the seat and tries to approach the console, the Raggedy Man _snarls_ at her, forcing her back. 

“You stay there, don't move, don't even _look_ at Amy, and you will tell me _everything,”_ he hisses, pointing at the seat, and Doctor Song obeys and sits down once more. 

“I'll tell you as much as I can.” 

And that seems enough for him, because he turns his back to Doctor Song and starts to maneuver the TARDIS, whose flight is much smoother than usual, if as noisy, with just tiny minute shivers instead of the shaking that happens normally. 

Amy is curious as Hell about the other woman, but she won't risk her luck by pushing the Raggedy Man's buttons. So, she holds onto the railing and studies Doctor Song. 

She's older than Amy, pretty and badass, as they saw in the recording. She knows the Raggedy Man, knows him as Doctor, though he doesn't seem to know her. Well, she said she knows him in the future, which would explain that, and the way she's looking at him now, all sad and… heartbroken? 

… He _was_ quite nasty, and the way he just… 

_“I have died_ enough _because of your pathetic race, I have lost_ enough _to your meaningless mudball of a planet, and I have_ nothing left to lose!” 

Amy shivers and rubs her arms, despite knowing it will do nothing. 

The TARDIS stills with her characteristic wheezing, and the Raggedy Man takes a couple deep breaths, leaning over the controls, before finally straightening and turning to Doctor Song. 

“Your hand,” she whispers, eyes wide, as she focuses on the bandages on his right hand, before looking into his face with realization. “This is still so early for you…” 

“Who are you,” he orders, ignoring her comment, and Amy cautiously but quickly moves to his side, not touching but simply being there to both support him and give him something to center himself. 

He may not look ready to snap anymore, but Amy knows just how much of a rough week he's had, starting with whatever happened on Christmas, to the damage to the TARDIS, Prisoner Zero and the Atraxi, Starship UK, and, just yesterday, the return of the Daleks, the Doctor's worst nightmare. And now, this woman just invites herself in, with knowledge she shouldn't have and giving orders without thinking it twice, as if that was all the Doctor ever was good for. To do what other people wanted or needed him to do, without a care for him. 

Amy's not sure how all those other Doctors the Atraxi showed them would have reacted, but her Raggedy Doctor is too broken to simply take it anymore. 

“I'm Doctor River Song, and I'm an archaeologist. I met you so long ago,” she answers, smiling softly with her last words. “We keep meeting in the wrong order. But for as long as I've known you, you have always known me. I knew the day would come when it would be the other way around, but…” she adds, trailing off as she stares at his bandaged hand once more. “I never thought it would be at such a time, so soon after…” 

“Shut up,” the Raggedy Man orders, voice quiet and dead serious, as his hands clench into tight fists. 

“I'm sorry, Sweetie. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories.” 

“I said _shut up,”_ he hisses, lowering his head and with his fists shaking, and, taking a leap of faith, Amy reaches out and wraps her hands around his bandaged one. 

The Raggedy Man goes completely still, not even breathing for some long seconds, before relaxing with a sigh. 

River looks pained. 

“I'm sorry. I have a favor to ask.” 

“No.” 

“Raggedy Man—” 

“ _No,”_ he repeats, stronger this time, as he slips his hand out of Amy's grip. “You wanted to follow the ship? We followed the ship. Now get out. I'm not your personal taxi service, I'm not at your beck and call every time you decide to do something stupid like _jump out of an airlock._ And I don't care if you know me or not, _I_ don't know _you._ Get out of my TARDIS.” 

“What about environmental checks?” 

And, with an explosive huff, the Doctor moves to the TARDIS door, throws it open, and takes a deep breath. Just outside, Amy can see sunlight on dark cream rocks filled with puddles, but not much more. 

“We're on Alfava Metraxis, the seventh planet of the Dundra System, in the Garn Belt. Oxygen rich atmosphere, all toxins in the soft band, eleven-hour day and…” he rattles out before taking another sniff. “Chances of rain later. All environmental checks clear, _Honey?”_ he asks mockingly with a sharp grin, and River flinches before she can stop herself. 

“You think you're so hot when you do that,” she answers as she stands up and grabs her shoes, sounding casual despite Amy knowing she's definitely not. 

“I don't need to,” the Raggedy Man retorts, still with that unsettling smirk, before gesturing at the open door. “Now, off you go. If you're lucky, some of your luggage might have survived the crash.” 

“The crash?” River repeats, frowning, before hurrying down the ramp, Amy at her heels. 

And there, sticking out of some kind of building carved on a mesa, is the smoking spaceship they had been following. 

“The museum display said it had been sabotaged. That wasn't you?” Amy asks River, because she does look genuinely startled at the sight of the wreck. 

“No, the airlock would've sealed seconds after I blew it. Oh, I did warn them.” 

“We saw that part. What were you warning them about?” 

River ignores the question, taking some kind of scanner out of her handbag to wave around and type in. 

“Well, at least the building was empty. Aplan temple. Unoccupied for centuries.” 

“The exhibit said there were no survivors. Also, how did you do that? How did you just leave him a note in a museum?” Amy tries again, looking over her shoulder to make sure the Raggedy Man is busy fiddling with the TARDIS' controls and grumbling to himself low enough for her to not understand a word. 

He doesn't want her mingling with River, but River obviously knows him enough to be able to pull off her tricks, so there must be some truth to them knowing each other in the future. 

Plus, the way River talked about ‘bad memories’… Can she know about Christmas, and what happened to the Raggedy Man? 

“There are two things always guaranteed to show up in a museum. The home box of category four starliners and, sooner or later, him. He loves to nag the managers about events, rewriting passages and history every couple of centuries or so. He drives them mad,” she explains with a genuine smile, both amused and fond, and Amy is _really_ curious now. “How long has it been for him?” River asks softly, looking up from her device to meet Amy's eyes. “The scar on his hand, it is bandaged still. How long has it been? And how long since you two met, from his perspective?” 

“The scar? That's going to scar?” Amy repeats before shaking her head to focus on the actual question. “That was just yesterday. He keeps it bandaged because the burn is still healing, but he said he doesn't need to stay in the infirmary anymore. He's still sore, though, which is why he suggested we visit the museum instead. And we met around four or five days ago, for him. I think? I don't know, he doesn't really _talk_ about things.” 

“I know. He's a frustrating man to look after,” River agrees when Amy huffs, and the two women exchange a smile. 

“Amelia! Come on, we're leaving!” the Raggedy Man shouts from the TARDIS, making Amy jump before she and River turn around. 

He's still serious, gaze dark and clearly no-nonsense. 

“What name is he using? I know he didn't go by Doctor this far back, so what name is he using now?” River asks quickly, and Amy finds herself at a loss of words. 

He didn't give her a name this morning and Amy didn't think to ask. And, seeing how he has refused both Harold and the Professor, she can't give River those either. 

_“I am_ not _the Doctor! Not the Doctor or the Professor or the Master or the Captain or_ anyone! _I am the Nameless, the Madman, the_ Diseased!” 

“I-I don't know,” Amy confesses, shaking her head, and River looks defeated before putting herself together and turning to the Raggedy Man. 

“There's one survivor,” she tells him, foregoing any name or nickname in favor of the information. “There's a thing in the belly of that ship that can't ever die.” 

And the Raggedy Man tenses and straightens, focused and _deadly,_ but at least this time it is not directed at River or anyone present. 

River's device beeps, and, with a hopeful smile at the Raggedy Man, she moves away from the TARDIS and pulls it to her ear to ask whoever is on the other side where they are. 

“What is she talking about?” Amy asks the Doctor as he joins her at the door, his frown both angry and worried, and he shakes his head slowly. 

“I'm not sure. And, before you ask, we are _not_ staying. I just need to make sure that thing won't be coming after _us_ if she messes up.” 

“Can you sonic me? I need to boost the signal so we can use it as a beacon,” River asks, waving around her device, and the Raggedy Man scowls. 

“No screwdriver. The TARDIS is making me a new one, this time _hopefully_ up to my expectations. Give me that,” he answers, gesturing for her phone-thing, and River hands it over without a second of hesitation. 

He goes inside to use the console to boost the signal instead, but River stays outside with Amy, still looking fond and sad at the same time. 

“I'm Amy, by the way. Amy Pond. I don't think we were introduced,” Amy tells her after a second, if just to have something to say, and, even though she looks amused, River shakes her hand. “So, you know about the Doctor? I mean, the Raggedy Man?” 

“You are nowhere as subtle as you are trying to be. And, even if you were, I can't tell you anything. That is his story to tell,” River answers calmly, and Amy sighs. 

“I just… He's hurting so much, I just want to know how I can help.” 

“Stay with him. He needs people around, something to focus on, someone to remind him to _live._ It will get better, but it will be hard before that. Be there, give him an anchor so he can figure out who he is again. Things have changed so much in such a short time…” River reassures Amy, and, though she doesn't really say much, Amy realizes that's all she's going to get. 

But that presents a new problem. If this is Amy's last trip, how can she stay with the Doctor? How can she be there when they won't be traveling together anymore? 

“Done,” the Raggedy Man tells them as he rejoins them outside, tossing River her device back, which she catches without problem. “Now, what were you talking about before? What is that survivor?” 

Before she can answer, the whistling of whipping wind grows stronger, attracting their attention to four small tornadoes growing in the wreckage – and dissolving to reveal soldiers in desert camouflage in their wake. 

Three of them immediately start scouting the area after getting their bearings, while the fourth approaches them. 

“You promised me an army, Doctor Song.” 

“No, I promised you the _equivalent_ of an army,” she answers calmly before gesturing at the Raggedy Man, who is standing very still and very serious with his hands in his pockets. 

If Amy didn't know he doesn't have a screwdriver, she would worry he's about to point it at the soldier's head. 

… Actually, maybe he picked it up when he went to boost River's signal. So, Amy decides that, one way or another, she's probably better off worrying. 

“Father Octavian, sir. Bishop, second class, twenty clerics at my command,” the soldier introduces himself after giving the Raggedy Man a thorough look, unimpressed. 

He is even more so when the hand he offers goes ignored, the Raggedy Man simply standing still and observing. 

“Doctor Song—” 

“I don't care about you, your Church, or this woman. I just want to know what you idiots are about to unleash, and if I need to bother cleaning up after you when it inevitably finishes chewing on your bones,” the Raggedy Man interrupts, as calm and unbothered as if he was talking about the weather, before grinning slowly but sharply. “So, let's skip the formalities. Tell me all about this new mess you _think_ I'll be dragged into. Please, just try. I'd _love_ to shoot any and all of your arguments down.” 

“It's a Weeping Angel,” River answers simply before the red-faced and nostril-flaring soldier can retort, and the Raggedy Man whips his head around to stare at her so fast that Amy startles. 

His grin is completely gone, jaw clenched tightly, and his eyes are wide. 

It is not the same reaction from when he first saw the Ironsides, there's no denial this time, but Amy can't help but think back to it, to the same pale amber eyes full of dread and growing horror. He clamps down on that quite fast, just a second since he first reacted, but that's all the more reason for Amy to realize she saw correctly. 

If she had never seen such an expression before, she wouldn't have recognized it in so little time. 

“Tell me everything,” the Raggedy Man orders the soldier, straightening into something powerful and commanding and, for the first time since Amy met him, not fully _human,_ even if nothing seems to have changed. 

He still has the same Saxon face, stubble on his chin. His short blond hair, left much to its own devices usually, is now even more ruffled by the wind. His comfy jeans, white shirt and cardigan are pristine except for the sleeves, rolled up to expose the bandages tightly wrapped over the burns on his right hand and forearm. 

But something about the way he holds himself, about his pale yet dark eyes, about the _command_ in his voice, screams _alien_ in a way it has never done before. 

_No, that's not right. He was like that in the laboratory, when he gave the Daleks their testimony and the lights flickered like crazy._

“Who…” the soldier whispers, wide-eyed and shuffling back a bit, while River takes in a shuddering breath with awe in her eyes. 

“I have had many names, new and old, invented or borrowed, all fake and all inconsequential. So, no, you do not care for my name, because you will not have it. What you need is not a _who_ but a _what._ And, fortunately for you, your Clerics, and all other lifeforms on this planet, Doctor River Song found you the only entity in the whole universe that could ever help you. I, Father Octavian, am the last of the Time Lords. And if you hope to live, you will obey me.” 

* * *

_Wait in the TARDIS until I tell you it's safe,_ the Time Lord says. 

So, Amy goes to the TARDIS, changes her skirt and low-heeled boots for shorts and trainers, and goes back out again five minutes later. The last time she left her Raggedy Doctor alone, he almost had his hand blown off and was about to destroy a ship with himself still inside. 

Amy is _not_ leaving him alone again, even though he's surrounded by people this time. River said to stay with him, and Amy intends to do that no matter what. Besides, the angel thing that has them so worried is in the ship, and there are trained troops setting camp all around. She couldn't be safer. 

“Miss! Excuse me, Miss, but is it true you are traveling with the Time Lord?” one of the soldiers asks, approaching Amy with two others, and she straightens self-importantly. 

“Yes, it is. Who's asking?” 

“Cleric Angelo, Miss. And these are Clerics Bob and Christian.” 

“Well, nice to meet you, boys. I'm Amy Pond.” 

“It's an honor, Miss Pond,” Christian answers this time, shaking her extended hand, and Amy can't help but smile, satisfied at all the respect she's getting from these soldiers. “Is it true what they are saying, Miss Pond? Is he an actual Time Lord?” 

“Is he _the Doctor?”_ Bob asks in a voice barely louder than a whisper, looking around as if afraid the Raggedy Man is going to appear out of nowhere. 

“Yes to both. But don't call him that, call him Time Lord. He's very peculiar about names,” she advises, and the three of them nod, wide-eyed in awe and hope. “That good, isn't it?” 

“Oh, Miss Pond, how can you not know? All that he has done, all that he is… You travel with him, surely you must know better than any of us the kind of man he is,” Angelo answers, still awed but also humbled, as if he truly believes Amy knows but just asks to be polite. 

And while that is true, Amy still doesn't know. The Atraxi ran away from the Doctor once they knew who he was. Liz Ten knew him, all of the royal family did. The Daleks feared him, as much as the Doctor feared them. 

She knows what she has seen, but she doesn't know what the rest of the universe sees when they look at her Raggedy Man, her silly Doctor with his twisted sense of humor and all his cracks and scars, who still manages to care and smile even when he wants nothing more than to run away and let the world burn, chasing his freedom. 

“He has toppled empires with a single word, destroyed universes with the press of a button, rewound time with a smile. Whole races vanished overnight whenever the Doctor appeared, worlds pocketed away like marbles…” Christian whispers, and though there's still awe in his expression, it is also filled with disbelief and mute horror in equal measure. 

“The Time Lords could create stars in a second, and destroy them just as fast. They could lock whole systems away and watch them destroy themselves in their attempts to escape. The Guardians of Time, always watching but never interfering, and you were grateful, even when things would go awfully wrong. Because, if the Time Lords interfered, you would wish for death,” Angelo adds with the same mystifying tone, and Amy swallows, eyes wide. 

“But the Doctor is not like them. The Doctor cares, the stories say, but under the smiling facade there's a darkness that can swallow planets in the blink of an eye. He defeated the Devil itself—” 

“Bob, you know that story doesn't go like that,” Christian interrupts with a huff, and Amy almost startles as the somber tone is cut with that sentence. “He didn't defeat the Devil, he sent it back to Hell.” 

“But how can you know that? There are no records of what, exactly, happened there. He could have very well defeated the Beast, or trapped it at the beginning of time,” Bob protests, and Amy frowns and turns to Angelo. 

“What are they talking about?” 

“Almost a millennium ago, the Torchwood Archive discovered a planet orbiting a black hole. They sent a ship to study it and extract resources, but the planet lost its orbit and fell into the black hole. Only three people managed to escape, and they said that the Devil itself had been shackled inside the planet, which was its prison. Since the beginning of time, the Beast had been there, influencing the universe, until the day the planet was swallowed by the black hole. They said a man suddenly appeared in their base, and he went down into the planet to expose the Beast. With the Devil revealed, he then gave hope to the crew, who fought past the monsters the Beast summoned, boarding their rocket and flying away while the mysterious man stayed behind as the planet fell into the black hole. Only, the Devil was aboard, but the Doctor dragged it out and pulled the rocket out of the black hole's gravity field. He returned them a missing crewmate and vanished, leaving only the reassurance that the Beast was gone. Some stories say the Doctor was a woman, or that there was a woman with him, but all agree that it was the Doctor who went down to battle the Beast and somehow managed not only to defeat it, but to bring everyone to safety after despite the lack of spaceship,” Angelo explains, and Amy's eyes are wide open once more in surprise. 

“But how did he _do_ that? And what was that Beast, was it the actual Devil?” 

“There isn't enough information about that, Miss Pond, since the Doctor faced the Beast alone, but the reports say he had gone in completely unarmed, though some mention a gun with a single bullet in it. However, the Doctor never carries guns, so that last one may be wrong. Still, the Doctor appeared after the Beast started killing the crew, and all stories always say that you should never anger the Doctor.” 

“The last time anyone did, the Doctor destroyed the whole planet,” Christian adds, once more back in the conversation, and Amy scrunches her nose because, no matter how much he threatens to do so, she's pretty sure her Raggedy Doctor wouldn't actually _destroy_ a whole planet. “In a sense,” he finally admits, sheepish, before going serious once more. “Villengard, the Nightmare of the Seven Galaxies. Their weapon factories were legendary, all thirteen of them. And then, one day, the Doctor shows up. The next day, the factories blow up, completely gone.” 

“I hear the survivors are growing bananas there,” Bob comments out loud, and the other two hum in curiosity. “I don't know if it's true or not, but I heard rumors back at the base.” 

“Bananas,” Amy repeats, not knowing whether to believe it or not. 

On the one hand, blowing up weapons factories could be something the Raggedy Doctor would be behind. On the other, _bananas?_ … Yeah, he could be behind that too. 

“Time Lord! Father Octavian!” River calls from the door to the drop ship, her hair pulled up and her dress replaced by a military uniform, and Amy quickly says her goodbyes and hurries to catch up to them. 

They leave the door open as they go in, approaching River, next to a TV, so Amy doesn't have any trouble joining them. 

The image onscreen is black and white, fizzling after a few seconds, and showing only the statue of a crying angel, its back to the camera. 

… Isn't the whatever they are here for called a 'Weeping Angel'? 

“What part of _wait in the TARDIS until I tell you it's safe_ didn't you understand?” the Time Lord asks with a scowl, and Amy startles, not having noticed he had seen her. 

Not that it is hard in such a small space, and with her red sweater, but still. 

“I'm your babysitter, remember? I'm not leaving you alone again,” she adds with a wave towards his bandaged right hand, which he clenches tightly. “Besides, this Angel creature is in the ship, and there are big and strong soldiers all around. Nothing could happen here.” 

“Famous last words,” he deadpans before letting out a sigh and relaxing, and Amy finally realizes he no longer looks as intimidating or alien as before, just serious and focused. 

“Welcome to the team, Amy,” River tells her with a smile before gesturing to the screen. “What do you think? It's from the security cameras in the _Byzantium_ vault. I ripped it when I was on board. Sorry about the quality. It's four seconds, I've put it on loop.” 

“Definitely a Weeping Angel. Which means we are very much in a lot of danger,” the Time Lord answers, tense once more, as he steps up to the screen and turns it off. “Delete the recording, any and all copies of it, _now,”_ he orders, and River startles but hurries to obey, typing on her device. 

“Why? Sir, we need all information we can—” 

“We don't need the Angel to know we're here,” he cuts with a hiss, before turning to River once she's done. “Where did it come from?” 

“The ruins of Razbahan, end of last century. It's been in private hands ever since, dormant. How could it know we're here?” she answers, frowning as she asks her own question, and Amy looks from one to the other, completely lost. 

Are they talking about _the statue?_ How can they be that scared of _a statue?_

“There's a difference between dormant and patient,” the Time Lord answers darkly, staring at the screen, before gesturing for River to hand over her mini-computer. “And that's how they do it, how Angels spread. Anything that is made in their image becomes one of them.” 

“I've read something about that before. I found a book, a definitive work on the Weeping Angels. It was written by a madman, so it's barely readable, but there was something about images, something like… _That which holds the image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel,”_ she quotes, frowning softly before looking at the Time Lord with surprise and dread. “You mean that's literal? Even pictures and recordings? Because that would explain why there are neither pictures nor drawings of the Weeping Angels in the book. I thought it was because the author was nuts, but…” 

“Yes, it's literal. The Angels are not creatures like humans or Aplans, they are of the abstract, so to speak.” 

“You have encountered them before, Sir?” Father Octavian asks, a lot more serious and respectful than he was before, and the Time Lord nods, returning River her computer. 

“Once.” 

“Wait a moment,” Amy interrupts, hands up, and focuses on the Time Lord when they all turn to her. “Are you talking about _the statue?”_

“It's only a statue when you see it. According to legend, they can only move if they're unseen,” River explains, and the Time Lord scoffs and glares at the black screen again. 

“That is not a legend, they are quantum-locked. In the sight of any living creature they literally cease to exist, they are just stone. Even Angels can't see other Angels, that's why they 'weep'. It's the ultimate defense mechanism, as well as their own personal curse.” 

“Then why are all of you so scared of it?” Amy asks softly, looking between the serious Father Octavian, the tight-lipped River Song, and the glowering Time Lord, until the last one turns so their eyes can meet. 

“Because, eventually, you're going to turn your back to it. You'll blink. And it will no longer be just a statue.” 

Amy gulps. 

Fortunately, the Time Lord decides to focus on business once more, breaking their stare so he can turn to Father Octavian. 

“The Maze of the Dead, the catacombs, our only way in. You better have some gravity globes and lots of torches. Weeping Angels feed on energy, it will drain the power from your lights and get you when all go out. And I don't care how 'dormant' you think it is, all the drive burn radiation from the hyperdrive will have energized it. It is _feasting_ in there, and it will be active. And the last thing you want to do is go up against a Weeping Angel at night, in the dark, through bloody _catacombs_ filled with deadly radiation, and have your lights go out. So, information. These Aplans, the ones who built that place, are they still around?” 

“They died out four hundred years ago. Two hundred years later, the planet was terraformed. There are currently six billion human colonists on this world,” Father Octavian answers, and the Time Lord scowls. 

“Of course there are. Pests, that's what you lot are. You better secure the whole area, quarantine it if necessary. If that Angel gets out of the catacombs, it won't be long before it finds the closest city and starts to feed. Either we stop it here and now, or the planet goes.” 

“Then we better get to work,” Father Octavian answers and, when the Time Lord nods, leaves the room. 

“So, how can a _video of a statue_ be dangerous?” Amy asks now that the soldier is gone, feeling more confident asking the kind of things that would have made her look stupid in front of Father Octavian. 

All three of them are really serious and focused, knowing enough about this Weeping Angel to be afraid of it, but to Amy, it looked like any other statue of a crying angel in any graveyard. She can think of the statue thing like a disguise, so that it is easier to understand, but _the picture?_

The Time Lord sighs, deflating almost in defeat, and glares at the ground, arms crossed against his chest. 

“It is not… It isn't really a _legend,_ but there is no recorded origin for the Weeping Angels, even in Gallifreyan texts. I did my research, but… Well, not like you can get Gallifreyan texts _now,”_ he snorts humorlessly, with a grin that vanishes in a second to be replaced by unease. “In the Dark Times, eons ago, back when the Fledgling Empires first started, this race called the Yssgaroth appeared. They were either from a different universe, one with a structure completely opposite this one, or the result of areas of anti-structure in _this_ universe, given form and sentience by those who came in contact with them. One way or another, they became one of the most important and deadly enemies of the Time Lords at the time. They fed off of energy, and could corrupt biomasses, _taint them,_ into becoming like them, vampires of a sort.” 

“Vampires are real?” Amy asks, startled, and winces when she realizes she interrupted, and quite rudely. 

The Time Lord rolls his eyes with a huff, while River gives her an amused smile. 

“Yes and no. Some species are naturally evolved hemophagocytes or equivalent, and, occasionally, some individuals of other species can evolve down a path of parasitism comparable to vampirism. And yet, some chalk it to the Yssgaroth. They were said to be as old as the universe itself, and that their taint ran down the very fabric of it, impossible to separate without collapsing the whole of reality,” the Time Lord answers, serious once more, as he rocks on his feet. “I don't know, and there's no way of proving or disproving it now.” 

“Right, that makes me feel much better,” Amy mutters under her breath, going unheard this time. 

Vampires are real. Sue her for being startled. 

“Not that the topic isn't interesting, but what do the Yssgaroth have to do with the Weeping Angels?” River asks, getting them once more back on track, and the Time Lord stills and scowls at the floor. 

“And what about the whole 'images of an Angel are Angels too' thing?” Amy adds, because that was, after all, her original question, and she would very much like an answer to it, thank you. 

“The taint, the Yssgaroth taint. The images of the Angels are much like that, 'tainted' with the essence of the Weeping Angels. Eventually, when they become strong enough, absorb enough static or radiation or any other kind of energy they can feed off of, they become fully functional Angels,” the Time Lord answers, meeting Amy's eyes with deadly seriousness. “Never stare an Angel in the eyes. If they are strong enough, even the image _in your mind_ can become an Angel.” 

“ _What?!”_ Amy squeaks, jerking in fear, while River looks shocked as well. 

“As in a memory?” 

“No, as in the imprint in your visual centers. Stare at something for long enough and you can see it even when you look away, blurry and mostly shapeless, don't you? Well, if it has been long enough and the Angel has tainted it, it won't be a mere afterimage,” the Time Lord explains, and Amy gulps as she steels herself for the obvious question. 

“What happens to those 'tainted' by the Angel?” 

And the Time Lord meets Amy's eyes, completely emotionless. 

“I don't know. They never find them after that.” 

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit._ If Amy didn't think the statue scary before, she's very much convinced now. 

“Okay, that's freaky. That's really, _really_ freaky. Statue disguises, infection, what else? Anything else you want to throw at me? I don't think I have enough for a whole week of nightmares yet,” Amy asks, partly because she can't shut up when her mind's running on fear, but also because she'd rather have all the creepy facts out before they go into those catacombs to avoid any nasty surprises. 

“They feed off of energy,” River adds, though it looks more like she's musing something else rather than answering Amy's question. “Quantum-lock, that's temporal or structural, maybe both. The images, the _taint,_ but the image centers are in _the brain,”_ she adds, more resolute now, before finally looking up to meet the tense Time Lord's gaze. “Why did you mention the Yssgaroth? Why say anything about them _at all_ when you could have explained it all without ever saying their name?” she asks, and when the Time Lord stays silent for some long seconds, breathing deeply as if to keep himself calm, River opens her mouth again, whispering this time. “What were the Weeping Angels originally?” 

Amy holds her breath, eyes wide, and turns to the Raggedy Doctor, the _Time Lord,_ a _telepathic_ alien. 

“No one knows. But some think they were tainted Time Lords.” 

And Amy's breath comes out in a gasp. River looks equally shocked, but the Raggedy Man is standing very still and emotionless, almost solemn, before scowling. 

“It doesn't matter. They're Weeping Angels, and there are no Time Lords left besides me. I would know. So, come on, Amy. Time to get ready,” he tells her, moving towards the door. 

After exchanging one last worried look with River, Amy follows. 

“We're seriously going into these catacombs at night, after everything you said? Can't we just blow them up, destroy the Angel with them?” she asks when she catches up, and he gives her a look like she just said the dumbest thing ever. 

“Angels have really high regenerative capabilities. It wouldn't work. Besides, destroying the ruins would have to wait until the radiation has been cleansed or decayed, which can't be done with a Weeping Angel in there and which would take too long. One way or another, I have to get in there and figure something out. You, in the meantime, will _stay_ in the TARDIS and wait for me to come back or for the emergency program to take you back to your time if the Angel gets me, whichever it is.” 

“I am _not_ staying in the TARDIS while you go in there!” Amy shouts just before they enter the blue box, earning some looks from the soldiers around. “I told you, I am not leaving you alone when there's danger around. I want to help!” 

“Which is why you'll stay here, so I don't have to look after you. This way, I can focus on the Angel without worrying about keeping you alive on top of all those other idiots,” he grumbles loudly, vanishing down one of the corridors, while Amy stands next to the console, hurt and frustrated. 

She can take care of herself, she can take care _of him._ Didn't she prove it back at Starship UK, when she saved the Star Whale? And what about the Cabinet Rooms? She got the information on the Ironsides, and she helped the Doctor when he returned, all dizzy and injured. Amy is _not_ useless, she _can help._

But the Doctor doesn't want her to, he thinks she'll just drag him down like everyone else, and so wants to keep her cooped up in the TARDIS while he goes in those dark catacombs without a plan beyond _don't die._

Amy drops into the seat, crosses her arms against her chest, and glares at the controls. 

“Well, if he thinks he's going anywhere without me, he doesn't know me at all. It's just one Angel, we can deal with it. What is so bad about these Weeping Angels, anyway?” she asks out loud, because, other than everything that makes them creepy, they never said why they were so dangerous. 

Sure, parading as a statue and attacking while your back is turned is bad, but what makes them so dangerous? What can they do? 

Amy scowls – and stiffens. The TARDIS' screen has just turned on, showing a man sitting down to stare into the camera. Slowly, Amy stands up and approaches the controls, because that can't be… 

“Oh my God. That's the Doctor,” she whispers, because he _is._

Pinstriped brown suit, spiky brown hair and brown eyes. He's putting on a pair of reading glasses, which the Atraxi projection didn't show, and he isn't as deadly serious as that one image was, but this is definitely the Doctor. Or, well, one of his faces, anyway. Amy really needs to ask how that works, because, according to all the research Rory and her did these past two years, all of the Doctors are actually the same, it's not an inherited title. 

“Yup. That's me,” the Doctor onscreen says, and Amy jumps in surprise. 

“Oh God! Is this a call? Do you do videocalls now?” she asks, and immediately feels like slapping herself once the words are out. 

_Of course this is not a call! Your Doctor is somewhere in the TARDIS, and he has a completely different face._

“Yes, I do,” he says, and Amy freezes. 

“You can hear me. You actually heard that!” she exclaims, grabbing the screen and trying to decide whether she feels shocked or exasperated. 

“Yup. And this,” he answers once more, and Amy takes a step back to look at the console, trying to see if there's any clue about what is going on here. 

“I can't believe it. How is this possible? Did I press something?” she asks, looking at the buttons and levers before focusing on the circular graphs at the bottom of the screen. “Was it you? I mean, there are all these graphics on the screen—” 

“Are you going to read out the whole thing?” he asks with a frown, scrunching his nose, and Amy moves away from the screen, startled and fighting down a blush. 

“No. It isn't like I can read it anyway,” she answers as nonchalantly as she can, before focusing on the matter at hand. “How are you doing this?” 

“I'm a time traveler. Or I was. I'm stuck in 1969,” he confesses before a woman appears onscreen, cutting him with her protests that _they_ are both stuck there. 

Amy is startled by her appearance, but she still notices the TARDIS door opening to let River in. Her first thought is that she forgot to lock the door when they came in, and that she shouldn't do it again. Who knows what could follow? 

Her second thought is that it's _River,_ and River knows the Doctor. So, Amy waves her over madly, ignoring her confusion. 

“River, come, quick! It's the Doctor, he's calling from 1969. He's stuck there with, huh,” she explains quickly before realizing she doesn't know the girl's name, and so she turns to the screen once more while River steps to her side. 

“Martha,” the Doctor chastises the girl, who steps out of the frame with a 'sorry'. 

“Are you two alright?” Amy asks him, because Martha really looked annoyed, and she mentioned something about having to get a job. 

Come to think of it, how can an alien get a job on Earth? Are they even on Earth? He said they're stuck in 1969, but it could be 1969 of any other planet, right? 

“Quite possibly,” the Doctor answers, and Amy winces. 

“Oh, that doesn't sound good.” 

“Doctor? Is that really you?” River asks over Amy's muttered words, frowning in confusion. 

“Afraid so,” he answers, and River finally grins unabashedly, giving what little they can see of him a once over. 

“I like the new look. How many rules are you breaking right now?” 

“Thirty-eight,” he answers as if it was no trouble, but also disappointed, like they should already know. 

Amy is a bit more worried about the 'rule-breaking' part of that, though. 

“Wait, what? Should you even be calling then? And _why_ are you calling yourself, won't this break the universe or something?” she asks, waving her hands to vent her frustration, but River chuckles. 

“People don't understand time. It's not what you think it is,” the Doctor tells them with a grimace, and Amy frowns. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Complicated,” he answers simply, and River snorts. 

“It always is.” 

“Very complicated,” the Doctor agrees, and Amy leans back and crosses her arms against her chest. 

“Oh, wow, thanks,” she deadpans before rolling her eyes. “You're definitely the Doctor. Come on, I'm sure you can find some way to explain it to us primitive humans.” 

“We might surprise you,” River adds with a grin that is both daring and knowing, and the Doctor frowns and shuffles in his seat, licking his lips before lifting his hands. 

“People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly… timey-wimey… stuff,” he explains, gesturing all the while. 

Amy _stares._

“Knew it,” River purrs, snapping Amy out of her surprise. 

“That's not how you usually explain things.” 

“It got away from me, yeah,” the Doctor agrees softly, staring at some point out of the screen. 

“Wow, thanks for confirming it,” Amy huffs with another eyeroll, and, instead of grinning and quipping right back, like her Raggedy Doctor would, this Doctor just looks at her once more, frowning softly. 

“Well, I can hear you.” 

Amy is about to tell him that she is not _stupid,_ she doesn't need to be treated like a child, but River speaks first. 

“How are you doing this? That's not the TARDIS,” she asks, and Amy decides to give the Doctor an earful later, because that is a very valid question. 

“Well, not hear you, exactly, but I know everything you're going to say,” he answers with a small grimace, and Amy's frown goes from annoyed to uneasy. 

This is the day for the weirdest things, apparently. 

“Is that a Time Lord thing? It has to be, it's freaky,” she comments, and River squeezes her shoulder reassuringly with a smile. 

“Focus, Amy,” he tells her, and, once she nods, they both turn to the screen again. “Why call now, Doctor?” 

“Look to your left,” he tells them while jerking his head to his right, their left, and they do as told. 

There's only the TARDIS door there, the one that Amy forgot to lock and that leads to the outside, to a terraformed planet with six billion humans and the soldiers' camp and— 

“… The ship?” Amy asks softly, eyes wide, as she turns to meet River's gaze, full of realization. 

“The Angel… You know about the Angel. What do you know about it? Is there anything you can tell us?” she asks the Doctor, no longer smiling and far more worried than before. 

“Wait, how can he know about the Angel? He's not our Doctor, he's one of his other faces. Is he from the future? Why didn't he fix it?” Amy asks, confused, and River gives her a sad smile. 

“Sometimes, the only thing you can do is nothing,” she answers, though that doesn't make sense to Amy. 

If all you can do is nothing… 

“Then, why is he calling now?” 

“I've got a copy of the finished transcript. It's on my autocue,” the Doctor tells them, startling them back at the reminder that he's still there, on the screen, before the two women frown. 

“Transcript?” Amy repeats, wondering what he is going on about now. 

“You can't have the Church's report, you're part of the events,” River tells him, half-admonishing and half-impressed, and _that_ makes a lot more sense. 

Wait, the Church? That would explain the soldiers calling themselves Clerics, and Father Octavian. The Church as an army, talk about a dystopian future. 

“I told you. I'm a time traveler. I got it in the future,” he answers as if that was the most natural thing ever. 

Which, okay, he _is_ a time traveler, that would make sense. … Why does he keep reminding them of that? Does he really think they're _that_ stupid? Or is it that he _can't_ say much, that he can't elaborate? 

“He thinks he's so clever when he does that,” River huffs, rolling her eyes, but she's smiling. 

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Amy interrupts before she can lose track of the conversation again. “You're stuck in 1969 after getting a report of this mess in the future, and you're calling the future, but not that far-off future, to tell us about what for you is the past?” 

“Yeah. Wibbly wobbly, timey-wimey,” he answers with a grimace, waving a hand as if to shrug the whole confusing thing off like nothing. 

But Amy is more worried about something _else._

“I was going to follow him, you, when he goes after the Angel. Does something happen to me? Is that why you're calling the TARDIS?” 

“Amy…” River warns, though there's also a note of concern in her voice. 

“What matters is, we can communicate,” the Doctor interrupts, gesturing once more as he tries to get them back to the matter at hand. “We have got big problems now. They have taken the blue box, haven't they? The angels have the phone box.” 

“The phone box? The _TARDIS?!”_ Amy exclaims, grabbing onto the console as her world sways out of focus. 

The Raggedy Doctor is dead-set on keeping Amy in the TARDIS, but this future-Doctor-in-the-past is telling them that the Angels are going to take the TARDIS. Is that why he's calling them? To save Amy? 

“What do you mean 'angels'?” River asks instead, but her hand is back on Amy's shoulder, squeezing both to reassure her and to bring her back to the present, away from thoughts about her possible death. 

“Creatures from another world,” he answers solemnly, and River scoffs. 

“I meant the _plural,”_ she retorts, and Amy snorts before she can stop herself, focusing back on the question after a moment. 

“Are there more than the one in the clip?” Amy asks, frowning again as her amusement is replaced by dread. 

“Only when you see them.” 

Amy and River exchange confused looks, before River's expression turns pained and Amy's fills with realization. After all, didn't she think it was weird the Doctor would dull things as much, especially if he has everything and knows Amy has traveled with him? 

“What can you tell us?” River asks, calm and solemn, and Amy knows they've both arrived at the same conclusion. 

The Doctor can only say so much, just like Amy when they met Churchill. She could have told him they would win the war, but maybe by knowing that, Churchill would have relaxed and something would have changed, making them lose instead. 

There's only so much the Doctor can reveal, and they'll have to make do with that. 

“The lonely assassins, they used to be called. No one quite knows where they came from, but they're as old as the universe, or very nearly, and they have survived this long because they have the most perfect defense system ever evolved. They are quantum-locked. They don't exist when they're being observed. The moment they are seen by any other living creature, they freeze into rock. No choice. It's a fact of their biology. In the sight of any living thing, they literally turn to stone. And you can't kill a stone,” he explains, giving them the abridged and disturbing-theory-free version of what they learnt in the drop ship, likely in case he missed something then or the report he got wasn't as complete about what they know and don't know. “Of course, a stone can't kill you either. But then you turn your head away, then you blink, and oh yes it can.” 

“That's why they weep,” Amy adds with a nod, putting all the facts together with what they learnt in the ship, and realizing this is the first time someone outright said that the Angels kill people. 

It was very much implied, but no one had actually said it before. 

“That's why they cover their eyes. They're not weeping. They can't risk looking at each other. Their greatest asset is their greatest curse. They can never be seen,” the Doctor corrects, and Amy rolls her eyes but doesn't interrupt, even if River smiles the same _he thinks he's hot when he does that_ smile as before. “The loneliest creatures in the universe. And I'm sorry. I am very, very sorry. It's up to you now,” he adds, frowning and serious, and Amy perks up again. 

“Does that mean I get to help? How?” 

“Amy, we can't,” River protests, looking worried, but Amy won't sit in the TARDIS, knowing the Angels are going to take it, and leave the Raggedy Man all alone. 

“The blue box, it's my time machine. There is a world of time energy in there they could feast on forever, but the damage they could do could switch off the sun. You have got to send it back to me,” the Doctor explains, and Amy's eyes widen. 

Just how does the TARDIS function, anyway? What powers her, which could do so much damage? 

“ _Send_ it back? Not bring it to you?” River points out, and Amy freaks out. 

She's supposed to be in the TARDIS when the Angels take it, or, at least, that's how it happened the last time—the last time for _that_ Doctor, that is—and whatever happened was so horrible that he is now risking calling his past-future-whatever self to _change history._

“Doctor, what happens to me?!” Amy exclaims, grabbing the screen – and the Doctor straightens with a frown. 

“Aaand that's it, I'm afraid. There's no more from you on the transcript, that's the last I've got,” he tells them, leaning forwards once more while taking off his glasses. “I don't know what stopped you talking, but I can guess. They're coming. The angels are coming for you. But listen, your life could depend on this. Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and _don't blink._ Good luck.” 

The image freezes on the last word and, a moment later, the screen goes black. 

Slowly, River grabs Amy's arms and pulls her away from it, from the graphics returning to it to spin lazily like usual. 

“It'll be alright, Amy,” she tells her with a reassuring smile, though there's the tiniest hint of apprehension in her eyes, as she rubs her upper arms. “Just don't turn your back and don't blink if you see an Angel.” 

“And don't you forget it.” 

Amy screams, jumping and slamming her hip on the console painfully, while River whirls around with a gun in her hand, aiming at whoever sneaked up on them – and pulling it up, finger slipping off the trigger in a second, when they see it is the _current_ Doctor standing at the mouth of the lower corridor. 

He changed into _armor_ of all things, which looks like it’s made of some kind of leather-wood material. It's fairly simple, the chest plate made of one continuous piece that arcs over the pectorals but just drops in a straight line to his waist—are Time Lords just never fat, or is that an incentive not to be?—with a round collar and three ridges going down it from neck to waist, right in the middle. He has shoulder pads too, just big enough to protect his shoulders and upper arms but not oversized, like with rugby players, made of one single piece and attached to the chest by one round metallic piece each, engraved with a swirly figure eight over a less detailed infinite symbol. A belt is around his waist, with some pouches attached to it over his hips. His forearms are covered by the same armor, with an accompanying curved piece over the elbow, while his boots seem to be made of three conjoined pieces, one being the foot, the other the lower leg, and the last being the knee. There's also a holster on his right thigh, but Amy can't be sure of whether it is actually filled or not due to it being a closed piece of rectangular dark cloth-like material. 

The armor is red, with details in gold, like the ridges of the chest plate, the clasps of the shoulder guards and a band around each wrist. The clothing underneath, made of the same material but with a leatherier feel, is black, the exception being the gold detailing on the collar, covering his throat. He has a cape too, attached to the shoulder pad clasps and thrown back at the moment, also black but with the hood full of swirly gold designs. 

Regardless of how impractical or unbending the armor seems to be, he climbs up the steps to the controls without problem or stiffness, as if he was clad in sweatpants and a hoodie instead, so she assumes it is some kind of strong but bendy alien material they don't have on Earth. 

Amy swallows the remnants of her shock and looks him over again, trying to figure out what the pouches or holster are for. 

“I didn't know you wore armor,” River comments with a breathy voice, pocketing her gun, and the Raggedy Man – the _Time Lord_ merely spares her a look. 

“Amy, I'll lock the TARDIS when we leave, as a precaution. You know where everything is, or you can just explore if you're bored. The kitchen is well-stocked, so you'll find no issues there. If I'm not back by tomorrow, the TARDIS will take you home, five minutes after we left,” he explains as he fiddles with the controls, not even glancing at her as he does so. 

“But—” 

“River, tell Father Octavian I'll be out in a minute. Make sure they are _truly_ well-equipped.” 

“Raggedy Man, I'm coming too,” Amy interrupts before he can continue ordering them around, but he doesn't even look up as he finishes adjusting the controls. 

“No, you are not. This is a Weeping Angel we're dealing with. They are extremely fast, and I won't have you be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was a 'thank you' trip, Amelia. You are not supposed to risk your life in those,” he answers calmly, finally turning around to meet her eyes, and while he doesn't feel fully alien, he doesn't feel fully human either. 

He's still the Raggedy Doctor, though, so Amy doesn't back off. 

“And you are not supposed to save humans from their own stupidity, yet here you are. I am _not_ staying in the TARDIS, Raggedy Man. I'm going to watch your back, whether you want to or not. I'm not going to let you get hurt if I can do something to stop it. And if you try to lock me in here, I _will_ find a way out. The TARDIS has helped me before, don't think she won't again,” she protests, and, as if agreeing with her, the lights grow stronger for a moment before dulling to their normal glow. 

“Eventually, the Angel will make its way here. The TARDIS is too tempting a target to ignore. Amy will be safer with us than all on her own, especially if, like all your other companions, she doesn't really follow the 'no wandering off' rule,” River adds, lifting a bundle Amy hadn't noticed she'd brought with her inside, but which looks like a uniform much like hers. “I'll keep an eye on her, protect her with my life.” 

“And what makes you think I would trust you over my own TARDIS?” the Raggedy Man scoffs, sneering down at River. “You won't be able to protect her, you won't have _time._ The Angel will end you faster than this,” he adds with a snarl, snapping his fingers with his last word. 

The TARDIS doors open. 

Startled, all three turn to them, but there's no one on the other side. 

“Well, at least I won't just let Amy walk away,” River drawls with a grin, and Amy has to put a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter at the Raggedy Man's dismayed expression. 

“Whose side are you on?” he hisses at the TARDIS, before huffing and storming to the door, pulling his cape to the front to cover his armor. “Alright, but be out in two minutes or I leave you both here!” 

Amy squeals and hugs River tightly before the older woman pushes the bundle in her hands. 

“We're going to change the future. We're going to go with the Doctor, and live, and then we'll be able to pick up the other Doctor in 1969. Right?” Amy asks, clutching the uniform to her chest, and River smiles widely. 

“Yes, Amy. We will.” 

* * *

A Weeping Angel. A _Weeping Angel._ And Amy insists on coming along and that woman, that _Doctor River Song—_

“Breathe, Koschei. You're scaring the nice Clerics,” Theta reminds him with a grin, his back to the temple and the team trying to blast their way in, which Koschei has been staring at without seeing them, lost in his thoughts. 

“I don't understand how you can be so calm in this situation,” he hisses under his breath, low enough that only another Time Lord would hear, despite the wide berth all the Clerics are giving him. 

Which is _exactly_ what he wants. Right now, he has more important things to worry about. Like a Weeping Angel in a radiation-flooded maze in the catacombs of a temple abandoned four hundred years ago. And Amy, insisting to come along with her _new best friend River—_

“Because I keep _breathing._ No, seriously, you are really starting to scare them with all the spiking and flaring. Have you forgotten how the cloaks work, after all these centuries?” Theta mocks with a huge grin, tilting his head so he can stare at Koschei's face, who glares at him from the corner of his eye. 

“No, I have most definitely _not_ forgotten how they work. Why do you think I would be putting on _armor_ if I had forgotten?” he scoffs back, and Theta _giggles,_ of all things. “What has gotten into you now?” 

“Oh, this is just so exciting! Don't you see? It's _Amy.”_

“What? Where?” Koschei asks, turning around quickly to scan the camp, but the TARDIS door is still closed and there's no sign of either River's blond hair or Amy's red one. “She's not there,” he scoffs, glaring at Theta, whose smile only grows. 

“You really don't see it! Hah! This is brilliant!” 

“Speak now or buzz off. I'm _busy,”_ he growls, and Theta tilts his head as his smile turns into a smirk. 

“I don't think that's how that part goes. Isn't it _speak now or forever hold your peace?”_ he hums mockingly, before quickly lifting his hands to head off Koschei’s deadly glare. “Alright, alright! But stop flaring, you're scaring the poor boys.” 

“They're bloody Clerics, not _pets._ And I don't care what you say, I will _not_ take any more strays,” Koschei huffs, but takes a breath and relaxes. 

Time Lord armor channels and regulates Artron energy, fine-tuning the wearer's abilities to allow for heightened perception and more precise and stronger temporal manipulation. Against a Weeping Angel, which feeds off of energy, the last point might be moot, as it would be giving it more fuel, but that doesn't mean Koschei can't use the improved perception and coincidence manipulation. Any direct attack against a Weeping Angel would result in his energy being drained, and trying to drain an Angel through the same means— 

Well, no one ever knows what happened to the last Time Lord who tried it. They only found her TARDIS with the recording of her plan and three Weeping Angels circling it like vultures. 

So, no, Koschei is not going to try that trick. He values his continued existence very much, thank you. 

Besides, who's going to look after Amy if he gets himself displaced? The Church? _River Song?_

“Aaand there it is again! Look, look! That tiny wrinkle between your brows, isn't it adorable?” Theta gushes, baby-talking Koschei and almost getting into his face while gesturing at his forehead, and Koschei can only sneer at him, knowing that, no matter how much he tries, he won't be able to push the ghost away with him being intangible and all that. 

“It's called a frown, you idiot. It means you're annoying me very much,” he scoffs, pulling his head back and looking up into Theta's large dorky grin. 

“Oh, no, it doesn't! _Well,_ maybe it does. _Well, yes,_ it clearly does. But not this one! The one before this one, the baby wrinkle with the pout—” 

“I do _not—”_

“That's your Daddy Face!” 

“—pout. Wait, my _what?”_ Koschei asks, startled, and Theta puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, still too close and with that huge grin on his face. 

“Your Daddy Face! You're worried about _Amy,”_ Theta explains, his grin turning mischievous as Koschei scowls. 

“What part of there being a Weeping Angel in radiation-flooded dark catacombs is _not_ to worry about?” he growls in answer, folding his hands behind his back and wishing he'd taken the gloves too. 

However, if he wants to make the most of things, he needs his hands free. True, the gloves don't really hinder that much, nor block feeling, but without a screwdriver to help along, he'll need all the grip and freedom of gloveless hands as he can have. It may not be much, but it may be just enough. Besides, the burns on his hand are not up for anything more than the bandages. He's already regretting putting on the forearm guard on his right arm, but he'd rather have a scar than lose the advantage the armor would give him. 

Weeping Angels are not to be trifled with. 

The one time the Master came in contact with them, outside of the Academy's lessons and the library, he only got out in time because his two _associates_ were displaced before the Angels could get to him. The third, waiting outside by its car, with the TARDIS attached to it in the shape of a caravan, had dutifully stared at the exit without blinking while the Master used the stolen pieces they'd gone there to retrieve to assemble a time lock, at the price of some of the sound absorbers of his TARDIS, and locked the whole mansion and its underground laboratories before the Angels got out. The Master had quickly decided that he was _not_ going to risk more trouble just to get his hands on some Numean diamonds, no matter how useful they would be in building a radio system far more effective than any he could find on a primitive Level 5 planet, and that he was just going to wing it when he got to Earth. The Nestene could come to Numea and face any other Angels that may be around if they wanted to, but he was _out._

Numean don't have a really long lifespan, so those two Angels had been quite weakened, but this one? This one Angel has been waiting patiently for a century, and has now enjoyed a good two hours and thirty-four minutes of radiation. Koschei is not going to take _any_ chances. 

Which means he _really_ should insist on Amy staying in the TARDIS, especially because of the bloody dark catacombs the thing will be hiding in – if the TARDIS would _cooperate._

“She's such a pain in the ass,” he grumbles under his breath, glaring at the blue box over his shoulder, and Theta hums in agreement. 

“Children always are. But you wouldn't love little Amelia so much if she wasn't, would you?” 

“I was talking about _your TARDIS,”_ he hisses, glaring at the smug ghost as he takes some deep breaths, keeping his temper under control. 

“Oh? Didn't I hear you refer to the old girl as _your_ TARDIS before?” 

“I can't deal with you right now,” Koschei deadpans and turns around, looking for the closest group of Clerics to harass. 

“I didn't want to care either.” 

Koschei freezes. That is not Theta's playful and nagging tone, that is his sad and nostalgic voice. He doesn't move, doesn't leave or turn around, but he doesn't need to, to know the ghost is now looking at the TARDIS with melancholy all over his face, seeing people that are no longer there. 

And Koschei knows. He knows, because _he_ was the one to deliver the goodbyes, and he saw just how broken those people were left. It wouldn't have hurt them so much if they hadn't _cared,_ and Koschei wouldn't have gone to them if _the Doctor_ hadn't cared in return. 

But that's what the Doctor does— _did._ That was what the Doctor did. He found companions who looked up to him, who were so innocent and pure that he could ground himself in their presence, that he could feel awe and joy through them, when he saw the universe through their eyes and their smiles. He found people who _lived_ so he could remember how to do it himself. And it was never supposed to be about caring – sometimes it wasn't even supposed to be about _companionship,_ some of them just were conveniently there when he needed a hand or a particular set of skills, or joined the Doctor without him ever agreeing to it. But eventually, he would come to crave their smiles, their banter, their _presence._ And, when the time came to say goodbye, the Doctor's hearts would break a little bit more every time. 

“You and your running,” Koschei whispers, also staring at the TARDIS, and hears Theta huff, a humorless smile surely on his face. “Whenever you got too attached, you couldn't help but run. Your human pets, House Lungbarrow, Gallifrey—” 

“But not you. I didn't run from _you,_ Koschei, I—” 

“You're a ghost,” Koschei cuts, though there's none of the bitterness or anger than he thought would be there, his voice laced only with tiredness instead. “You can't know what he actually thought, way back then. You're only saying what _I_ wish to hear. And I don't want to hear it anymore.” 

Theta stays silent, and Koschei can almost feel the regret and grief coming from the ghost, a mirror image of his own. 

The TARDIS doors open, and River and Amy come out, the girl's red hair pulled into a bun much like the older woman's, and both dressed in the same style of uniform. They are talking about who knows what, focused and determined, but there are smiles on their faces. 

Something in Koschei's chest twists anxiously, but he pushes it away with a scowl as soon as he realizes he's frowning again. 

_“That's your Daddy face!”_

“She's not her,” he whispers, watching as River hands Amy a couple torches and helps her attach them to her belt. “Amelia, she's not… Why do I even _care?”_

“Because she was there, and she needed you, and she cared,” Theta answers with an equally soft voice, and Koschei catches him putting one of his ethereal hands on his shoulder from the corner of his eye. “She trusted you, and she was honest. And when she looked up at you, it felt like you were able to do anything and everything with just another one of her smiles.” 

“But that's not how it's supposed to feel…” 

“Isn't it? Because I may be a ghost, with very little actual memories and feelings from the original Doctor to draw from, but… That is how _I_ felt when my daughters gave me that very same smile.” 

_“Why do you need a policeman to check on a crack in your wall?”_

_“Because it's scary.”_

_“Ugh, alright. Get me something to eat and I'll check that stupid crack in your wall.”_

Amelia had smiled then, a big and happy smile, and carved a smiley face on an apple because apples aren't his favorite, and held his hand as she took him to her room, and leaned on his shoulder excitedly to check the psychic paper and— 

_“See you in five minutes, Amelia!”_

She had looked up at him with shiny eyes full of tears but a smile on her face, and with that unshakable _trust_ that he really would be back in five minutes, even if there had been sadness there at seeing him leave. 

And he had vanished from her life for twelve years, leaving her alone to believe he had never been more than a figment of her imagination. 

Yet here she is, nagging River with a smile after the older woman refuses to give her any kind of weapons, putting a pack of batteries in her hand instead with a knowing grin. As stubborn and determined as that seven-and-a-half-year-old who trusted the stranger that fell on her shed to deal with the monsters, but who would not be scared by Prisoner Zero or crazy time traveling aliens. Amy doesn't want an adventure, or, at least, not this time. She wants to come with him, to face _a Weeping Angel,_ because she is still that little girl who would fight dragons to protect the silly knights who were going to get themselves eaten. She wants to follow into the catacombs because she _worries_ about Koschei, all the while trusting him to get all of them out safe and sound. 

She is all grown up now, but she is still Amelia Pond, the girl who would bite her psychiatrists because she _believed_ in him, and she knew he would come back. The girl who knocked out a burglar and cuffed him to the radiator to get answers instead of calling the police for them to fix things, because she would let no one fight her battles for her. 

Amy Pond. Koschei's little helper. 

“Ah. You see it now,” Theta comments calmly, a smile on his face, and Koschei can only swallow and nod. “I'm sorry. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't.” 

“What good does that ever do? Just look at us. Ignoring something doesn't make it go away, doesn't mean it is _not there,”_ Koschei manages to whisper, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. “I'll bring her straight home right after this. It'll be better for her.” 

“But will it be better for you?” Theta asks softly, and Koschei turns to meet those knowing dark brown eyes for just a second before the ghost pops out of existence. 

Koschei sighs and glares at the ground under his boots with a frown, before the sound of footsteps makes him look up to see who is approaching. 

Amy, standing tall and ready, with two torches but not a gun hanging from her belt. And, _of course,_ River Song, smiling confidently and giving him a look and a raised eyebrow that practically scream _well? Tell her something!_

“Are you sure I can't convince you to stay in the TARDIS?” he asks seriously instead of whatever compliment River likely meant with that look. 

Amy lifts her chin with a grin, not taken aback by his tone or glare. 

“Not a chance. Besides, I know how to get out anytime I please. It's as easy as this,” she answers, snapping her fingers with the last word and sharing a knowing grin with River. 

“Women. Always the women,” he groans as he drags a hand over his face, and hears them laugh. “You're going to be the death of me,” he adds, still sticking to his grumpy tone as he glares at Amy over his hand, and she winks mischievously. 

“Serves you right, after all the scares you've given me. I think I'm getting gray hairs and it's only been a couple of days!” 

“Don't worry, dear. You will definitely pay him back for that,” River answers knowingly, and, while a part of Koschei bristles and snarls at this woman who claims to know him, the other merely huffs in annoyance as Amy celebrates with an excited cheer. 

So, it is with wariness that Koschei meets River's eyes when he finally drops his hand, once Amelia turns her attention to the latest explosion from the Clerics trying to get into the catacombs. 

“Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on her,” she promises, stepping closer to him so she can answer without Amy overhearing, and Koschei looks her over with disdain. 

“So far, you've partied aboard a galaxy starliner, graffitied a home box, and jumped out of an airlock. Why, exactly, would I trust you to keep an eye on Amelia?” he asks, voice low and tone serious, and River winks. 

“Spoilers, Sweetie.” 

And, without another word, she saunters off as Father Octavian calls them to tell them they're through, humming what he recognizes as _I'm a Believer,_ the Smash Mouth version, loud enough to be heard as she leaves. 

“Women!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up, and Amy laughs. 

“Oh, come on, Raggedy Man! Let's go!” Amy exclaims, grabbing his hand between hers and dragging him towards the group, with the same bright and trusting smile her seven-year-old self wore when she showed him to her room for him to close the crack. “Time to save the day!” 

Koschei sighs, shakes his head with a tiny smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and pulls the hand out of Amy's grip before turning her around so they are face to face, his hands resting on her upper arms with a soft enough grip to not be overbearing while still being firm. 

“You do whatever I say, understood? No wandering off, follow my instructions to the letter, and stick close to me at all times.” 

“Or River?” 

“… Don't make me say it.” 

“Whatever, Grumpy Man,” she chuckles, taking his hands off her arms to squeeze them between hers. “I'll be by your side at all times so you don't get scared, alright?” 

“That's all I could ever ask for,” he answers softly with a last squeeze before pulling away from her and approaching Father Octavian, dropping all expression from his face. “What's the status?” 

“We're through,” Father Octavian answers as the Clerics rush from here to there behind him, clearing the rest of the way and checking their equipment. “We're going to drop a gravity globe first, send a small team in to secure the immediate area. Everyone is equipped with extra torches, as you instructed.” 

“Good. What about tools? What do you have to get through the hull and navigate the ship?” he asks, listening with half an ear to the answer while keeping an eye on Amy, who has joined River a bit further away. 

“And he can't choose the faces? He just, what, flickers like an old TV and there's a different man standing there?” 

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Regeneration is a bit more explosive. But to an extent, I guess he does have a say on what his new form will be like. That's why he always looks humanoid. Though, again, it depends on what triggered the regeneration. He may not be conscious or strong enough to do more than just take it.” 

“I wonder if that's why he ended up looking like a blond Harold Saxon.” 

“Do you _really_ think I would _choose_ a face this recognizable?” he calls, finally turning to acknowledge the girls' conversation, who startle at his interruption, while Father Octavian blinks in confusion, not having heard them with his inferior hearing. “Come on, Amy, give me some credit,” he adds with a huff and, when Amy gives him a sheepish smile, he turns his attention back to the Bishop. “Any laser spanners?” 

“… I'm afraid those haven't been invented yet, Sir,” Father Octavian answers, confused and surprised, and Koschei rolls his eyes, unimpressed. 

“Yes, they have, they've been around for about six years now. Get with the program,” he scoffs, but shakes his head dismissing the issue. “Viro-stabilizers?” 

“Ready, Sir.” 

“At least there's that. Alright, dose everyone up, Amy included, and get ready. The sooner we get to the Angel, the less energy it'll be able to absorb. Not that it would do much at this point, but count your blessings, right?” he asks mockingly, and doesn't bother waiting for an answer before going to examine their entrance to the catacombs. 

The floor is far under them, dark. One of the Clerics drops a gravity globe into the catacombs a moment later, so Koschei sees that it's a quite vast open space. It'll be good to spot the Angel, but this is just the entrance. Everything else, judging by the term 'catacomb', won't be as convenient. 

Amy yelps at his back but when he turns around, he sees she's glaring at River, who has an unrepentant grin on her face and an empty needle in her hand. Koschei snorts, attracting their attention, and merely lifts a hand for River to pass him his own viro-stabilizer. 

Time Lord or not, drive burn radiation is not something he'd like to deal with. It might not hurt him as much as it would humans, but he really needs to be at his best if they're going to do this. 

… Which means he should probably stop looking at River over his shoulder every few seconds. Whoever that woman is, she obviously wants to stay alive as much as everyone else. And, unlike the Clerics, she _does_ listen to him and trust him, even if she's a bit more _casual_ with him than he's comfortable with. 

And the way she called him— 

Koschei shakes his head, pushing the thought away, and hands the empty needle to one of the Clerics. Now is not the time to think about _that._ He needs to keep his wits about him, and River can handle herself and keep an eye on Amy. It will have to do for now. 

If they survive, he can try to figure things out then. 

Father Octavian arranges the group, sending some Clerics down the rope ladder as he said he'd do before following, Koschei after him and River and Amy going down last. Once on the ground and able to look around properly, Koschei realizes he was right. The main chamber is enormous and open, but all the passages going up, to the crashed ship, slither through the mountain, narrower and twisting around the stone they are built in. Great ambush spots to begin with, but there's another reason Koschei takes in a deep breath to calm down his speeding heartsbeat. 

The whole place is filled with statues. 

“Where are we? What is this?” Amy asks as she stands just behind Koschei's back, sticking close as promised and with a torch in her hands. 

“It's an Aplan Mortarium, sometimes called a Maze of the Dead,” River answers, waving her own torch around to peek at the closest statues and the rocks framing the tiny square they landed in. 

“As if regular graveyards weren't bad enough,” Koschei scoffs, forcing his breathing to stay calm and constant to push away dread. “Everyone ready for a game of peek-a-boo? This is your last chance to leave, though I can't assure you'll live much longer even if you do,” he adds nonchalantly, stepping away from the group to shine his own torch at one of the statues' eroded face. “Not in this time period, anyway,” he whispers with a frown, tilting his head. 

There's something strange going on here, something about the statue that he can't put his finger on. It may be the radiation slowly trickling down from the crashed _Byzantium,_ but there's just _something_ that puts Koschei on edge. 

He hears River explain about the Angel's touch displacing people in time, and Father Octavian ordering his Clerics to check the statues, but Koschei slowly moves up one of the corridors, using the handheld computer he 'borrowed' from the Clerics to check the ambient readings and the radiation charts in place of his screwdriver. 

He had the thing for not even a full day, he can't be missing it already! 

… But it would be useful to have one, anyway. Still, if the TARDIS does as instructed, his new screwdriver—sonic, because she won't build anything else—will be better equipped than the last. Some additional settings and signal dampers, for starters, and an actual laser torch instead of the weak and unfocused beam it had been before. 

Still, for now, he has to do without. 

“So, how does that displacement thing work, Raggedy Man?” Amy asks as she catches up to him, and Koschei looks up for a moment to see she's alone. “River's talking with Father Octavian, so she can't explain.” 

“It's like buying a car,” he answers after a moment, frowning down at the computer before glaring at the statue. “You buy a new car from the dealership and bring it home, and they promise you it will last for, oh, twelve years. For twelve years, you'll have that car, no problems at all. But the next morning, the car is gone, stolen. And those twelve years that you could have used the car? Well, now they are someone else's twelve years. You get a different car, maybe the same model, and move on, but you have still lost twelve years with a good car,” he explains, finally turning to see Amy's wide-eyed realization when he _still_ can't figure out what is weirding him out about the statue. 

“So, the Angels don't actually kill you?” 

“They send you to the past, for you to live your life and die in peace. But those years you could have lived in your original timeline? Those years now belong to the Angel,” he elaborates with a shrug, and Amy frowns. 

“But you said—” 

And she cuts herself, pressing her lips into a thin line. 

“I said what?” Koschei asks, lifting an eyebrow, while Amy battles with herself. 

“There you are. Found something?” River asks, finally catching up to them, and Amy immediately turns to her. 

“Angels don't kill people, they send them back in time. But they don't actually _kill_ people, as in killing them dead,” she tells the older woman, who gives her a curious frown before realization washes it away. 

“Oh. That doesn't mean they don't _kill_ them. It may be indirectly, it may be kindly, but the people the Angels catch are dead. They are usually sent far back enough that they die before they were taken, or quite close to that moment. If any of us is taken by the Angel, you can consider them already dead,” she explains softly, and Koschei rolls his eyes and returns to his scans. 

And here he thought his explanation was good enough. Well, whatever. As long as it keeps Amy _away_ from the Weeping Angel, it works for him. 

“But what about the Doctor? I mean, what year is it right now? How long can he actually live? Will he just keep regenerating until he gets to this moment in time? Can he even die? He said—” 

“Amy, _breathe._ And don't you worry. He won't get caught that easily, and he has a TARDIS. If anyone can outmaneuver a Weeping Angel, it's the Doctor,” River soothes when Amy starts to panic, and Koschei twists just enough to send her the sharpest glare he dares to don without flaring. 

“The Doctor is _dead._ Now focus. We need to get to that Angel before _it_ gets to _us.”_

And gunfire fills the catacombs. 

Koschei runs, knowing River and Amy won't be far behind, and rejoins the group of Clerics in time to catch Father Octavian berating one of his men for jumping at shadows. 

"Sorry, sorry. I thought—I thought it looked at me," the Cleric apologizes, huddling into himself, and Koschei lets out an annoyed huff and turns his back to the scene to scan their surroundings, just in case. 

The computer doesn't detect anything new, and he can't see or feel anything strange either – other than the unsettling _wrongness_ from the statues that he doesn't know how to take, that is. 

"—so it would be good, it would be very good, if we could all remain calm in the presence of decor," Father Octavian is saying when Koschei tunes back into their conversation, and he can't help but snort. 

"It would be even _better_ if you had taken just the necessities, _as I told you,_ and left all of your useless weapons behind," he reproaches them, glaring at Father Octavian over his shoulder. "Guns will be of no use against the Angel, but they _can_ kill us if one of you gets spooked and starts shooting at whatever moves," he adds, sending a scathing glare at the cowed and ashamed Cleric. "You're terrified, aren't you? Well, great job, keep at it! The more scared you are, the faster you'll turn at the slightest noise. And, dealing with a quantum-locked creature that ceases to exist the moment you lay eyes on it, that split second can very well save your life," he tells the Cleric, not bothering to give him a second to answer, and, cautiously, the human looks up at him with the beginnings of relief. "But _keep your gun locked and your finger off the trigger._ Or you'll end up shooting any of us instead, and, trust me, dying from a gunshot wound is _not_ pleasant, especially when it isn't an instant kill," he adds, and whatever relief the Cleric had felt turns to shame once more. 

"Yes, Sir. I will, Sir," he answers meekly, staring at the ground under his boots and nodding softly. 

"The same goes for all of you. Eyes open, reflexes primed, and _hands off your weapons,"_ he tells the rest of the Clerics, and, after Father Octavian's reluctant 'yes, Sir', the others answer in the affirmative as well. "Good. Let's move, we're losing time." 

"Don't worry, Bob. He is not really mad at you, trust me. He's just trying to keep us all safe," Amy tells the scolded Cleric before Father Octavian sends him down a different passage to join a different group, and Koschei rolls his eyes. 

Whatever. This way, they don't need to worry about being shot accidentally when someone startles. 

It takes Father Octavian just two minutes to organize the group before they finally make their way to the ship, leaving Scaredy Bob and Friends to guard the ladder once they're done securing the perimeter, and Koschei spends that time moving from statue to statue as he tries to figure out what is _wrong_ with them. 

"Are you trying to glare _statues_ into submission?" Amy asks, amused, and Koschei scoffs. 

"I would if it worked," he grumbles under his breath, but her snickers let him know he wasn't quiet enough. "Keep your guard up and stay close. There's something wrong here." 

"What, you mean besides the radiation, Weeping Angel and giant spaceship hanging over our heads?" Amy asks sarcastically as they make their way up, Koschei taking the lead and River sticking to Amy's side. "By the way, what are the chances of it just dropping on us?" 

"Quite low. The Aplans were incredible builders," River answers with a reassuring smile, and proceeds to point out details of the structure and give them information about the old settlers of this world. 

Like their belief that the soul ascended after death, which is why the Maze is built in six levels. Or their overall relaxed and cheerful society, more focused on creativity and teamwork than opulence or warfare, though their philosophy was kind of creepy. 

They are about fifty feet from the wreckage when Koschei stops suddenly, forcing the others to still as well, tense and wide-eyed. 

"What did you just say?" he asks River, tilting his head just enough in her direction that she knows whom the question is addressed to, but without facing her. 

"The Aplans were quite open about marriage, even amongst different species, which led to conflicts with the Church when they pressed for laws against self-marriage," she repeats dutifully, but there's tension in her voice as she tries to figure out what has put him on edge. 

"After that," he prompts, slowly dragging his torch from one statue to the next all around them, feeling his uneasiness curling around his throat like clawed hands. 

"Amy asked how self-marriage worked, so I told her it's because the Aplans had—Oh." 

"Yes, _oh_ is right," Koschei whispers with a strangled voice before ushering the group further, to a widening of the path without any statues in it, almost chamber-like. 

"What's wrong, Sir?" Father Octavian asks as he reaches his side, after sending his Clerics first to secure the area, but Koschei doesn't turn away from the statues even as he carefully walks backwards towards the rest of the group. "Are we in danger?" 

"Shut up and get in there. No speaking, no moving. Get your men to watch the exits but _stay together._ I need to test something," Koschei orders, recovering his cool so that his voice comes out clear and firm, and the Bishop hesitates only half a second before obeying. 

After one last look around, reaching as much as he dares to see if he is truly feeling what he thinks he's feeling, Koschei finally joins the Clerics. 

"What's going on?" Amy asks, standing in the middle of the circle of Clerics with River at her side, and Koschei can only spare her a quick look before turning once more to the corridors they came through. 

He takes one deep breath... 

"Turn off your lights." 

The Clerics tense, some glancing at him after all of his previous insistence about torches and keeping a clear line of sight, but only Father Octavian keeps staring at him after the initial surprise. 

However, he's not the one to speak. 

"Are you sure?" 

It's _River._

Of course, being that she has figured out just _what_ has Koschei on edge now, it only makes sense that it would be her. 

He kind of wants to answer that no, he is _not_ sure about that, but what alternative do they have? 

Still, if this is what he fears it is, he can't just _tell them that._

"I am. I'll turn off my own too, so don't freak out. It'll be just a moment," he answers instead, and River hesitates— 

But nods without fear, moving a bit closer to Amy so that the younger girl is further inside the circle, before turning off her torch. The Clerics follow her example a moment later, until only Koschei's light remains. 

And then, before he can overthink it any more, Koschei flicks his torch out – and back on again just a decimal short of a full second. 

It's more than enough. 

"Oh, my God. They've moved," Amy whispers, voicing what everyone else is thinking judging by the tension filling their stretch of corridor. 

And they have. Moved. The statues, that is. The statues of the dead Aplans that aren't statues of dead Aplans like they first thought, because _the Aplans had two heads._

A perception filter, just low level enough to tickle Koschei's senses but not let anyone realize that there was one head missing from _every single statue they walked past._

With that thought blocking his throat, Koschei rushes past the reaching but immobile eroded statues that _were not there before,_ and turns his torch down. 

Every. Single. Statue. Has. Moved. 

"They're Weeping Angels. All of them, every single one. They're all Angels," he whispers mostly to himself, before training kicks in and he pushes his dread to the very back of his mind. "Torches on, _now!_ And don't take your eyes off them, keep watching the statues, but don't look them in the eye. They're Angels, all of them," he orders, returning to the group as he goes through different formations in his mind that will allow as many of them as possible to make it back outside. 

"But they can't be," River protests, more in fear-fueled denial than actual refusal, even as she turns her torch to the corridor Koschei just left. 

He's too busy climbing up one of the walls to answer, getting to a vantage point. He's back on his feet soon enough, managing to locate the gravity globe they left at the entrance, far below, and tracing a path past the reaching statues and zigzagging passageways with his eyes, discarding them not a second later. Too many possibilities, none of them with good enough odds even with him twisting them to their favor. 

"They are," he finally tells River, feeling fear and desperation trying to claw at him while his stubbornness and refusal to die beat them back with a stick of blind denial. "Every statue in this Maze, every single one of them." 

He looks down instead, to his motley crew of Clerics plus Amy and River, before once more turning to analyze the Maze. The Angels keep moving closer, those out of sight for the group below, and Koschei feels his throat go dry. 

Any path he could find now would be overrun by the Angels before they got to it, so full of statues that it might be simply impossible to navigate, or to get past them. They will need to blink too, though he could probably work a way to get them to blink in shifts... But with so many Angels around them, their torches would be drained in no time, emergency ones included. They are weak now, but they outnumber them by far. 

"But it _can't_ be! There was just one Angel in the ship, I swear!" River calls up, her torch steady as it shines on the base of the mound of rock Koschei climbed on. 

Clever. No Angel will sneak up to him, in his vantage but vulnerable position all the way up here, with her keeping the base illuminated enough to see them coming. 

"How did the Aplans go extinct?" he asks instead of answering, twirling in his spot to try and figure out another way through a different passage than the one they came through. 

"Nobody knows," she tells him dutifully, looking up just enough that Koschei's eyes meet both River's and Amy's. 

"Now we do." 

_Only when you see them,_ Amy mouths, or, judging by the way River turns with a start to meet her fearful gaze, whispers. _They are Angels only when you see them._

Koschei doesn't know what they're talking about, but he drops down to the group once he identifies a passage that _may_ work. It's twisty and mostly encased in rock, which would make it the perfect trap if not for the quantum-locked nature of the Angels. It is mostly clear as well, which means a couple of the Clerics can walk backwards at the rear to keep the Angels in sight without fear of tripping, while the rest of the group keeps their eyes up and to the front. It will be slow, and it will be tedious, but it can be done. 

And, if someone gets caught, Koschei will probably be able to just pop back to the past to fetch them – as long as they don't wander to the section reserved for the outworlders that River mentioned before. If they find their tombstones, the past becomes fixed and there's no taking them back to the present afterwards. Koschei will _not_ risk a paradox on that, not even if that would poison the Angels. 

Yet another point supporting the 'Weeping Angels as tainted Time Lords' theory. Any race that knows of the Time Lords knows of them keeping the timeline stable, but what none of them are aware of is _why._ Point one is because the universe could be destroyed, and they would rather not, thank you very much, as they are living in it. Point two is because it is literally painful to have such a wound in time screaming at the edge of their senses, distorting the universe and their perception of it. Point three is that the Weeping Angels are not the only ones who get poisoned by paradoxes. Time Lords are more resilient, probably because their lifeforce is _not_ temporal energy like the Angels', but they are not unaffected. 

Another reason why making a paradox machine _without_ a TARDIS or Gallifrey's resources would have been impossible. The same life support systems that allow their occupants to go on with their everyday lives while in the Vortex can be adapted to 'filter' the paradox, to loop it into a stable cycle without the anti-artron energy that would harm any Time Lords stuck in it. 

"I've found a route out. It'll be dangerous and it'll be stressful, but if you do exactly as I say, we can get out," he tells the group, before turning to Father Octavian. "Call the drop ship, tell your Clerics to keep watch over the entrance. Two of them, at least, so they can alternate blinking. And get in contact with the group at the ladder, Scaredy Bob and his buddies. They need to be on guard, establish a perimeter. Send some more in if necessary, but we need that area clear." 

"And then what?" he asks, and Koschei snarls in lieu of wincing. 

The mirror he pocketed to deal with the Angel from the ship is all but useless now. 

"I'll time-lock the whole Maze if necessary, and figure something out later. But first, we need to get out of here," he hisses, and Father Octavian tenses but nods. 

"But how can they be Angels? They don't look like it," Amy asks River under her breath when Koschei turns to them, Father Octavian already barking orders into his radio at his back. 

"That's because they're dying," he answers instead, startling them, though he meets River's eyes as he speaks next. "The Aplans went extinct when the Angels kept displacing them. Their food source died out, what, four centuries ago?" he asks, and River nods, somber. "They've been starving ever since, locked in here, so weak that they couldn't even reach the colonists to feed on them. You said the other Angel, the one on the ship, was _discovered_ a century ago? That's probably when it received the message from these ones. It had been bidding its time until it could find the perfect energy source to bring here, the _Byzantium,_ and flood the Maze with radiation to heal these other Angels. This wasn't an accident, it was a rescue mission," he explains as he puts things together in his head, grimacing as he looks at the statues reaching for them. "That's an army, and we're surrounded. Hand, Eye and Crown, we are _so_ screwed..." 

"The message? The Angel from the ship received a message from these ones?" River repeats, startling him out of his musings to focus back on her and Amy, staring at him wide-eyed over the older woman's shoulder. 

"Another theory. How can creatures who can't see each other, who have no means of communication, hunt coordinately? Some scholars believed them to be telepathic up to an extent. This kind of range? Unheard of. But then again, who could have tested it and survived?" he tells them softly, and his grimace immediately reflects on their expressions. "Coincidences don't exist. Never ignore a coincidence. Most often than not, your life will depend on it later." 

"Never ignore a coincidence unless you're running for your life?" River asks with the shadow of an amused smirk on her face, and Koschei twitches, _hearing_ the quotation there, and knowing it is probably _him_ she's quoting. 

"Never ignore a coincidence unless you're running for your life, _but_ never forget about it even then," he agrees, unable to stop himself before adding the last point because he is _not_ going to let someone else have the last word, not even himself. “Your inferior human brains can’t comprehend time, but _I_ can, and when I tell you coincidences don’t exist, it is because they _don’t._ You lot think time is simple, a strict progression of cause to effect, but it isn’t. Time is complicated, _very_ complicated,” he explains, hoping to get that point across, because he really needs all the details he can get his hands on if they’re planning to survive this, and can’t have any of the two startled women staring at him in disbelief _forget_ to mention something just because they thought it was _just_ a coincidence. “Ugh, alright. This is the simplified version, but no less accurate for it,” he huffs, turning to them and lifting his hands as he tries to figure out how he can illustrate temporal physics theory simply enough for a non-sensitive species to understand. “From a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, time is not a line but a big ball of interconnected events, the links of which are flexible and interchangeable up to a point, and malleable themselves so that any ripple caused on an event bubble by an established connection results in a modification of the connectors, which, in itself, would cause yet another ripple on the adjacent event bubbles, until—” 

“I get it now,” Amy cuts with realization all over her face, and Koschei stops, gawking for a couple of seconds at the _shock_ of those words and what they mean. “Time as ‘a big ball of wibbly wobbly timey-wimey stuff’ is _way_ easier to understand than that.” 

River lets out a loud _hah!_ before she can cover her mouth to muffle the rest of her laughter, though she nods alongside a smug Amy. Koschei is too busy puffing up indignantly to answer with more than a glare, though, focusing instead on the redhead. 

“Excuse you! That is most definitely not an accurate term _or_ explanation for temporal physics. What’s next, using ‘jiggery-pokery’ instead of Field Technological Repair and Assembly, or Xenotechnology Manipulation?” 

“Oh, jiggery-pokery! Because you wave our screwdriver around and poke at stuff to make it work! Now, _that_ makes everything clearer!” Amy exclaims happily, and Koschei gives her a betrayed look. 

“Don’t you start with that! I’m trying to kick that awful habit!” he orders as sternly as he can before turning around, conversation over. 

Both women snicker at his back, but Koschei has more important things to worry about. 

"Bob, Angelo, Christian, come in, please. Any of you, come in," Father Octavian is calling into his radio, but there's only static from the other side. 

Those are the names of the guys that were guarding the ladder. If they've been displaced, it'll be harder to get back outside, but it may still be possible. However, it would mean that the radiation has reached far enough to give the Angels by the entrance sufficient power to move around and attack, and, with the displacements, they will be more dangerous than ever. 

"It's Bob, Sir. Sorry, Sir," finally comes out of the radio, and Koschei relaxes minutely. 

Maybe they are not as screwed as he first thought. 

"Bob, are Angelo and Christian with you? All the statues are active. I repeat, all the statues are active." 

"I know, Sir. Angelo and Christian are dead, Sir. The statues killed them," Bob answers, and Koschei tenses all over again before closing the distance between himself and Father Octavian in two long steps, practically ripping the radio out of his hands. 

He has a bad feeling about this, the same bad feeling that first got to him when he saw the 'statues'. If only he’d known more about the Aplans before coming in… Ugh, whatever. He is _not_ waiting for a clue this time. 

"What do you mean, they're dead? Did you see the Angels displace them? Have they vanished off of whatever sensors you're carrying?" he asks, silencing whatever protests Father Octavian may have with a glare. 

"Is it you, Time Lord, Sir?" 

"Yes, it's me, now answer the question. How do you know they're dead?" he answers briskly, looking all around at the Clerics staring at the statues, but whose ears are on him and the radio. 

"Because I found them, Sir. The Angel snapped their necks." 

Koschei freezes. 

Amy is pale as death, a hand clinging to River's arm like a child to their parent, with the torch trembling in her other hand. River is wide-eyed and horrified, but far steadier than Amy, patting the hand on her arm calmingly. 

"You turn your back, you blink... And then a stone can kill you," Amy whispers, exchanging a look of realization and dread with River, who puts her hands on her shoulders. 

"I'm not going to let them get to you," she tells Amy, and Koschei forces himself to take a deep breath and return his attention to the radio in his hand. 

"That is not how the Weeping Angels usually deal with their victims, Bob. Where are you now? Did you notice anything about Christian and Angelo, about the Angel that killed them?" he asks, trying to figure out just _what_ is happening now as he analyzes the Angels surrounding them in an attempt to see _something._

"I'm on my way up to you, Sir, I'm homing in on your signal. And it was the Angel from the ship, Sir. It stripped their cerebral cortexes from their bodies and re-animated a version of their consciousnesses to communicate, since Angels have no voice," Bob explains with, Koschei _finally_ notices, a strangely calm and composed voice that doesn't fit the scared Cleric shooting at shadows that he last saw. 

"And that's how it got you too," Koschei whispers when the Cleric's words finally make it to his brain, feeling cold inside. 

"Yes, Sir. This is the Angel communicating through me, Sir. Sorry for the confusion." 

For a moment, everyone seems to be holding their breath, Amy's and River's eyes wide and Father Octavian grimacing in a mixture of disgust and horror, before the Bishop shakes his head to get back in the game. 

"If that's the Angel from the ship, we can escape through the wreckage. Move out, run!" he orders his Clerics, and, trying to put his thoughts in order, Koschei ushers River and Amy after them, bringing up the rear so the Angels can't follow. 

It is only when they're under the crashed _Byzantium,_ a good thirty feet over their heads, and discussing their lack of climbing equipment and how more and more Angels keep showing up on the corridors leading to them, and their torches and the gravity globe starting to flicker, that Koschei takes in a deep breath and pulls the radio up to his mouth again. 

"If you killed the three Clerics may I ask, does this mean you have no need for our latent temporal energy?" he asks calmly with his best negotiator voice, not taking his eyes off of the statues yet changing his expression to calculated disinterest. 

"We don't, Sir. The Angels are feasting on the radiation. Soon we will be able to absorb enough power to consume this world, and all the stars and worlds beyond," Angel Bob answers, still in that unnatural calm tone, and Koschei frowns softly. 

Drive burn radiation will help restore this army of Angels, definitely, but not even six billion colonists _and_ a Time Lord will give them such a power. If they get the TARDIS, they could do a lot of damage, true, but it would _still_ not be enough. 

"That sounds delightful, magnificent! My most sincere congratulations on your recovery. Oh, and excellent plan, too. We hadn't noticed a thing until we fell right into your trap," he tells them instead, grinning at all the eroded statues surrounding them, and glaring at Father Octavian when the man looks ready to snap at him. 

If he can get them talking, just like the Doctor always did to his enemies, he may yet figure out _what_ is going on here. River seems to agree with him, because she turns to the Bishop and whispers at him to let Koschei do his thing. 

Well, she actually says _let the Doctor work his magic,_ which would have earned her another scathing glare if not because Angel Bob chooses that very moment to answer. 

"Thank you, Sir, but that is not entirely true. You noticed, as soon as you set eyes on the Angels, even if you didn't know what you were looking at. And we know you do not mean to congratulate us on our victory." 

"And this, dearest Angel, is why you should pay more attention to your enemies, because I said _none_ of those things. I praised your plan, your _trap._ The moment we set foot in the Maze, the trap was set, so I noticed _once_ we were in your trap. And I did not congratulate you on your victory, but on your _recovery._ You haven't won yet," he scoffs, glaring at the closest Angel but meaning it for all of them. 

"But we will, Sir. We have all the power we need in that vessel." 

_There's nowhere near enough power for what you plan in that wreck,_ is what he wants to say, but Koschei snaps his mouth shut before he can say it. 

"So, you really have no need for us. How about letting us leave, then?" he asks casually, and can feel the incredulous looks on his back without turning around. 

"I'm afraid we can't do that, Sir. You would try to stop us." 

"Why would I do that? Look, the other Angels have been observing us all the time – that's why Bob started shooting at nothing, he actually _noticed_ one of you eying him up. You know how much I care about this circus, which is not at all. The only thing I want is to get out of here and go on with my life. An army of Weeping Angels is _not_ what I signed up for," he tells Angel Bob almost conversationally, channeling all his disgust at the humans and the situation into his voice, and ignoring the hisses of _what are you doing_ from behind him. 

"But you would do it, Sir. You're the Doctor, the man who saves people. This is why you were so angry when I started shooting, because I could have hurt someone else. This is why you didn't want guns, because you want to keep people safe. You want to save everyone, quite hypocritically, because you would kill all of the Angels here to do so. You want to put the Maze under a time lock, and the Angels can't allow that. We will kill the Clerics, one by one, and Doctor Song. We will leave Miss Pond for last, and kill her slowly, right where you can see, and you will be able to do nothing to save any of them. But we won't kill you, Doctor, we will just incapacitate you. You couldn't keep me safe, Doctor, no matter how much you reassured me that fear would keep me fast and that no accidental bullets would be fired anymore. Miss Pond trusts you too, but we will show her the truth. We will show you the truth as well. You can't save anyone, Doctor." 

_"Get out of the way."_

_"See you in five minutes, Amelia!"_

_"Never give up, never give in, huh? The Doctor, the sanctimonious twat who makes people better."_

_"The Time War ends_ today." 

Theta. Amelia. Starship UK. The whole of the universe. 

One died so he could live. The other lost fourteen years waiting for him. The Star Whale was going to die so the Starship could live. The Daleks are out there once more because he chose Earth. 

No, Koschei is not the Doctor. 

But the Doctor couldn't save everyone either. 

_“I know you can do it, Koschei. I have faith in you. Not just about being nice to the old girl, but… At the time I'm recording this message, you've already taken control of some operations, and you are_ great, _Koschei. You are fantastic,_ magnificent, _and you know it. So, don't forget it, please? You're beautiful, Koschei. And no matter what happened to me, how we left things. I forgive you. I thank you. And I want you to know you can still be beautiful, even if I'm not there anymore.”_

_“It's hard, Koschei, it really is. But sometimes, you can really save everyone. Don't give up, alright?”_

“Amelia, do you trust me?” he asks softly, not looking away, but feels her surprise turn to determination even before she answers with a firm _yeah._ “River?” 

“Always.” 

“Father Octavian, Clerics, do you trust me?” he asks, and, this time, he actually meets eyes with the Bishop. 

“We have faith, Sir.” 

“But do you have faith _in me?”_ he insists, and, after a moment of tense silence, Father Octavian— 

Nods. 

“I have faith in God sending us the right man for the job. Yes, Time Lord, I have faith in you.” 

“Clerics?” 

“Yes, Sir!” they all answer in unison, spurned by their leader's words, and Koschei turns to face the closest Angel once more. 

“When I tell you to, jump. Just up, as high as you can go. Understood?” he asks, receiving confirmation from everyone even as he weaves their faith, their trust, around him, his grip on the radio growing stronger as he lifts it back to his mouth. “Angel Bob?” 

“Yes, Sir?” 

“Are you sure you don't want to just let us go?” 

“I'm afraid not, Sir. The Angels would quite enjoy seeing you suffer,” he answers as calmly as any other time before, and Koschei nods, mostly to himself. 

“Right. You've been warned.” 

“Warned, Sir? About what?” 

Koschei takes in a deep breath, twists all of the faith and trust tightly around himself, crouches— 

“I'll take a raincheck on failure,” he whispers mockingly into the radio, his smirk sharp— “ _Jump!”_

And the lights flicker for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> The next episode is ready, fret not. It'll be posted on the weekend.
> 
> This episode's title is a nod to _Silence in the Library,_ River Song's first appearance.
> 
>  _Blink._ Really scary episode, even if, when you think about it, the Weeping Angels really aren't the scariest creatures, they actually let you live… But then again, I remember someone saying once that death is not the worst that can happen… Why did I add the video from _Blink?_ One is because I thought it would be hilarious. Two is because, in the episode itself, the video actually fits in different settings, and all of them _make sense._ In Kathy's house, it catches Sally's attention, so she eventually asks Larry about it, which leads to them going to the house to send the TARDIS back after Billy Shipton's death. And, in the video shop, too, Sally and the Doctor have a conversation, even if Sally doesn't know about it and ends up freaking out. So, the video can be useful in many different situations, not just in the house and as a full clip, as it was intended. Ergo, me thinking it would be really cool to have it here, in this episode, and, you know what? It actually _made sense,_ as the Angels _really_ kill people in here instead of displacing them, and you really don't know they're there until the 'Aplan' statues move, they think there's just the one Angel.
> 
> Another minor detail that bothered me at the time is that River says the TARDIS' noise is due to the brakes being on. Okay, sure, laugh it up, it fits, it's great. But. In the original series, _the Master's TARDIS_ makes the noise too. Again, it could be because TARDISes have to be piloted by six people, and so the Master has more important things to worry about than the brakes… But why would he? They make the TARDIS rattle and it's harder to pilot her (among other things, like the blue boringers). And there's also the fact that the Doctor himself, his tenth incarnation, says he failed the test to fly the TARDIS (or barely passed it, can't remember which one it was). So, my brain's explanation? The Master didn't have all the parts because he used them _to lock Weeping Angels in a time lock and run the Hell away from the planet_ on his way to Earth for the Auton invasion.
> 
> Armor. Time Lords as military, did I mention that? Green armor for the Doctor, as his studies were mainly in the Arcalian Chapterschool, the one for scientists. Red armor for the Master, as his studies were mainly in the Prydonian Chapterschool, the one for leaders and warriors, with the golden bands on his wrists declaring his status as second-in-command (I think it's in _Heaven Sent/Hell Bent_ that you can see the second-in-command of the Gallifreyan soldiers wears the same kind of armor as the rest of the soldiers but has golden bands to separate him from them). This also explains the Master's extended knowledge of the Weeping Angels, as enemies of the Time Lords, but lack thereof in more science/jiggery-pokery areas, or about alien species that were neither threat nor asset to Time Lords, such as the Aplans. This difference in their fields of expertise has closed over time, as they travelled and learnt, but it's still there, and it'll become more poignant with time (like the Master thinking he wouldn't be able to hack the Dalek ship last chapter, when we see the Eleventh Doctor actually doing it in the episode).
> 
> Also, I've been asked if the Master will ever tell Amy who he truly is. Truth is, I don't know. I mostly put the characters in the situations and let them deal with it, they mostly write themselves. So, while the Master is not trying to hide the fact he is _not_ the Doctor, I believe his wounds are still too fresh to talk about that in more detail, and Amy already has a set idea of who he is, and so doesn't ask. That can change, the characters, as I mentioned, do as they want. But still, I have no idea of if, or when, such a thing would happen.
> 
> And, on that same point, the conversation between the Doctor's ghost and the Master about the 'Daddy frown' and caring about people and all that is yet another instance of the characters doing what they want, so I really don't know what half of it meant *insert shrug* They'll probably explain more in future chapters.
> 
> Next time: The group is trapped, people go missing, questions are asked and answers are given, but maybe not in that order, and maybe not to those questions.


End file.
